To Walk Among Titans
by Vindicated Skies
Summary: TFP. Over twenty years after the death of Optimus Prime, Earth is a dying world ruled by Decepticons. The Resistance that was once led by Jack Darby is a tattered shadow, and only one Autobot lives to watch mankind slowly disappear. With nothing left to lose, the only chance to save the future lies with the hope that the past is not truly set in stone. Time-travel fic.
1. Prologue

I know, I'm horrible, starting another story without having updated any of the others in months...but the idea for a time-traveller from a post-apocalyptic future for TFP has been simmering in the back of my mind for a while, and after watching Darkest Hour, and seeing the way Miko reacted to being separated from Jack, this little bugger bit me pretty dang hard.

* * *

_**Prologue**_

"_Daddy, who's Optimus?"_

_He froze, with one hand on the shoddy cupboard door while the other held a can of beans in midair. He could feel her watching curiously, likely snuggling with her ratty old teddy-bear, which was missing an eye, an ear, and half an arm. He wondered how he should answer, how he _could_ answer her. Optimus Prime was so many things: he was brave, selfless, noble, inspiring, fierce, merciful, compassionate, humble, loyal, and strong in both body and mind._

_But he was also dead._

_He inhaled a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he did so, trying not to relive the last time he had seen the Autobot Leader alive, standing in the missile silo, watching each of them leave, destined for a different part of the country. Back then, he hadn't known that would be the last he saw of the great mech; he hadn't known that Prime would stay behind to destroy the ground bridge computer so that their locations could not be salvaged from the wreck of their base. At the time, he had merely thought he would also relocate to another part of the country, slowly traversing it to regroup with each of them…_

_It hadn't been until five months later, when they finally regrouped with Ratchet and the others, that he and Arcee had found out he was dead._

_Slowly, Jackson Darby set the can of beans on the stained, grimy counter, attempting to steel his nerves against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. When he felt he was as prepared as he could be, he turned to face the six year-old sitting on the dirty floor in ragged, patch littered clothes. She sat there, staring at him with grey-blue eyes that matched his own, peering out from a heart-shaped face that matched her mother's, all with a mop of brown hair atop her head._

_He walked over to her, sitting down on the floor and pulling her into his lap, trying not to let her see how much the past was affecting him. Jack had to be strong for her; for the Resistance that looked to him as their leader, and for what little was left of humanity._

"_Well, sweetheart," he began, trying not to choke on his words, "Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots before you were born. He was a great mech; I had never met anyone in my life who was as caring and self-sacrificing as he was. Back when your mom, Uncle Raf, and I were all younger, he…"Jack's words died in his throat, mind swimming with memories; the space bridge, open and aiming at Earth, the terribly beautiful light of the Omega Lock, and the fire and smoke that followed its destruction._

_Jack rested his bearded chin upon his daughter's head, unconsciously tightening his hold upon her as he closed his eyes. For a long while, he didn't speak, and the cowardly part of him told him to just say, "he cared for us deeply" and leave it at that. That would be enough to satisfy his little girl's curiosity until she was older, he knew. Yet…he saw Optimus in his mind's eye, the self-recriminating torment in his glowing blue optics…and he felt his gut clench with guilt at the realization that not telling Prime's story would be nothing less than an utter disregard for his memory._

_So he opened his mouth and began to speak again, his words halting at first as he described the fearless leader's humble beginnings as a data clerk on a far-off world, but slowly gaining strength as he told her everything he knew._

_She listened with rapt attention, eyes dancing with amazement as he spun the tale, and when he finally stopped speaking, hours later, her mouth dropped open in a little "o" and she breathed out an amazed "wow" that reminded him vaguely of her mother's younger years, which she had spent running through ground bridges and staring wide-eyed at ripped out spark chambers._

_And then, his daughter voiced a rather blunt opinion that had occurred quite suddenly to her, and made Jack's heart clench painfully._

"_He sounds like you Daddy."_

_Before he could open his mouth to tell her "no, he was better than I could ever be," another voice interrupted from the doorway._

"_They're two of a kind, sweetheart."_

_Jack looked up with a sad smile on his lips (his smiles were always sad now, they had been for thirteen years) to greet the woman who was his wife in every way except legal matrimony._

_Miko gave a cheerful grin in response that threatened to split her face in half, but the smile, so familiar from their youth, never lit up her eyes anymore. The light had gotten dimmer starting with the death of Optimus, and dimmer still with the death of each Autobot that followed until, finally, it went out completely alongside Bulkhead's Spark._

_The grin dropped from Miko's face and she was suddenly all business, locking her gaze onto Jack's own tired visage._

"_Fowler, Raf, Ratchet and Bumblebee are waiting for us in the command room."_

_Ah, of course. There was never any real rest for the weary, just moments of waiting sandwiched between crises._

_Jack slowly rose to his feet, cradling their daughter in his arms—the daughter he had always wanted, but never planned to bring into such a horrible world as the one they were living in._

_He handed her carefully over to her mother, and then wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders as the two began walking to the command room together, their child giggling quietly in Miko's arms as the Asian woman made funny faces for her benefit._

_Jack smiled slightly, and, for a moment at least, he could let himself believe that they were an ordinary family in an ordinary world and that, far above him, on the surface of the Earth they called home, there wasn't a dying world littered with the carcasses of empty cities, where the skeletons of skyscrapers still stood against the back drop of an eternally grey sky, vigilantly, but futilely, waiting for the sun to split the veil open and shine on them with hope again._

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Well, I hope you guys enjoyed the prologue, first chapter should be up next week, it's almost done. Let me know what you think.


	2. Whispers of Yesterday

Well, here's chapter one. Oh, and FFV, many of your questions are answered in this chapter, though not all. I hope it's not a let down for any of you. I got this one out as quickly as I did because it was practically finished already, and I'm eager to know what people think on the direction I plan on taking this story in.

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_**Chapter One: Whispers of Yesterday**_

"_Aren't you coming, Daddy?"_

_A brief silence; a flash of agony in the blue-grey eyes that look down on her as the sounds of endless destruction echo above them. A shaky breath from the one who holds her. A clump of dirt falling between them from the ceiling of the subway tunnel._

"_I can't sweetheart."_

"_Why not?"_

_His answer is not directed towards her._

"_I'll make sure the Decepticons can't follow. Keep her safe, all of you; for me and for Miko."_

"_Daddy?"_

"_We will."_

_A kiss on her forehead, a mumbled "be good for your uncles" and "I love you so much" and then suddenly he's running out of her life, back towards the death and the dying, and her little voice screams for him as loud as it can._

"_DADDY!"_

_But, for the first time in her life, it doesn't bring him running back._

* * *

She woke with a scream dying in her throat, digging its claws into her vocals as she held it in only through sheer will, so that, instead of the bloodcurdling screech it was meant to be, it came out as a croaking gasp. Behind her still closed eye-lids, the rest of the nightmare played out; screaming for her father even as Uncle Raf shoved the both of them into Uncle Bee's alt-mode, screaming at them hysterically that they were driving the wrong way and _please go back, I want my Daddy, please go back, go back, go back—_

Titania Darby sat up sharply, cradling her head in her hands and trying not to think about the day the Decepticons discovered the exact location of the Resistance headquarters, the day her stupid, _stupid_ father went and _died_ like the noble glitch he was, blowing up the tunnels behind them so they couldn't be followed, and blowing up himself and Primus-only-knows how many Decepticons in the process.

Every time she thought about it, even eight years later at the hardened age of sixteen, she just wanted to cry and scream and scream until she brought the sky down on top of them and simply ended everything.

Wrapping her arms around her knees, Titania took a shuddering breath in an attempt to calm her nerves, even as her hand went up to grasp the dogtag around her neck, embossed with the Autobot symbol on its front. She fingered it for a moment, then turned it over in her hand and squinted down at the words that were inscribed there; words that she didn't need to be able to see in the darkness, because she had known them by heart since she was seven years old.

_To prove your  
Honour_

_To uphold your  
Duty_

_To protect your  
Family_

Her eyes stung with tears she would never let fall; she had been given the dogtag by her mother as a gift for her seventh birthday. Her mother had told her that it had originally been a gift from Bulkhead, the Wrecker that Titania had been deprived of the opportunity to meet long before she'd even been born. The words had quickly become her mantra, and she repeated it to herself again and again and always somehow felt like she was borrowing a bit of her mother's strength, and the strength of the Wrecker who had made it.

Taking another deep, calming breath, Titania let the dogtag drop back against her chest, and then proceeded to stare at her hands, calloused and scarred from years spent pitching and taking down tents, cutting herself on debris as she moved it in search of supplies, and firing massive guns with nasty recoils.

She sat there for a long while, knowing she wouldn't get anymore sleep, and simply listened to the silence of the night.

Sometime later, somewhere in the near-darkness of her tent, her communicator began to vibrate, and Titania tiredly rolled over, reaching for the blinking light beside her sleeping bag that indicated its presence. Flipping it open, she lifted it to her ear and spoke with as much authority as she could muster in her tired state.

"Titania Darby; what's the situation?"

There was a moment of static before a familiar voice spoke.

"Situation? I'll tell you my situation; Uncle Sam's got his star-spangled knickers in a knot 'cuz you're not here yet. Where are you, Wreckin' Gal?"

Titania felt her brow furrow, trying to think of where it was she was supposed to be right now; she didn't have any missions until later in the evening, and the briefing wasn't until later in the afternoon. But then her eyebrows immediately shot up into her hairline in realization and she scrambled out of her sleeping bag in a panic.

"Well, scrap; what time is it?" She asked of her favourite uncle, though, truthfully, he was more like a grandfather to her.

William "Bill" Fowler responded promptly as she began to dress herself; "Oh-five-thirty, Wreckin' Gal. Now get your aft over here before Ratchet blows a gasket and finally keels over."

She smiled as she heard the Autobot medic's indignant sputtering in the background, laced with various Cybertronian expletives directed none too favourably at her Uncle Bill.

"All right, I'm on my way," she informed him, clipping the pieces of her black armour into place over her skin-tight, rubber-like body suit, "I'll be there in a minute. Titania out."

She shut off her communicator without waiting for a reply, and reached down to pick up her weapons. Titania strapped a hulking, twenty-pound gun to her back, it's wide barrel—wide enough for her to stick an arm in—facing downwards. It was a Cybertronian cannon, scaled down and slightly altered for human use, courtesy of Ratchet, and was more than capable of bringing the hurt to any Decepticon she laid eyes on. So was the pistol she then proceeded to strap to her right thigh, it's unassuming, distinctly human-like design disguising the very real danger of the armour-piercing rounds within that would release a burst of explosive energon on contact—once more, courtesy of Ratchet. The pistol wasn't liable to kill a Decepticon—she'd need a direct bead on an exposed spark chamber or their main fuel line for that—but it was useful in frying circuits, shooting out optics, and just generally wrecking enough havoc to potentially disable them for a short time—or a long time, depending on which of their systems failed. It was most useful when you were trying to make an escape or provide a distraction.

After strapping her combat knife to her other thigh, Titania reached up and loosely plaited her hair together, flicking it back over her shoulder once she was finished.

Satisfied that she was presentable for the day, Titania subconsciously held her chin slightly higher, and then marched out of the darkness of her tent and into the dim grey light of the dawn.

The whole world seemed grey, whichever way she looked. The ground she walked on was covered in soot and ash, what little grass there was looked sickly and poisoned, and crunched beneath her feet like old, fragile bones. Even the very tents the resistance camp was using were grey, sewn together from old, washed out clothes so that they would blend into the terrain when viewed by any Decepticons that may be flying in the sky far above the shadows of the canyon.

And even though she couldn't see it—not with the grey canyon walls stretching up all around her—she knew that, on the horizon, the rising sun was a vague blotch of muted colour, hidden behind layers upon layers of polluted clouds that swallowed the whole sky.

Titania stopped several feet from the entrance of her tent and simply watched life—what was left of life, at least—go on around her. Some of her fellow Resisters milled about, most going to their tents to catch some sleep as they came off night duty, while others were just waking with the sun. A few were carrying buckets of water here, pushing a cart of spare parts there, delivering rations to this tent and that tent, and just generally getting by in the same way they had for as long as the sixteen year-old could remember. All of them wore armour almost identical to hers, melted down, ironically, from the scraps of deceased Decepticons, and then reforged into something a human could wear. They all liked to think it was a way of spitting in the Decepticons' faces, and reminding them that they had killed Decepticons in the past, and would likely do so again. Not a single individual walked without a weapon either; everyone preferred the idea of going to the grave _with_ a gun, rather than because they didn't have one.

Titania felt her eyes light up as she spotted one Resister in particular, only for her brow to furrow curiously as she saw him staring out at nothing with a focused look on his face. The man was younger than most of those in the camp, in fact, she knew he was only twenty-two, being just six years her senior. He wore the same armour they all did—her own was simply more form-fitting—and favoured two pistols and an energon-powered sniper rifle that was almost as long as he was tall.

"Kicker?" she called as she approached him, and he seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had fallen into.

"Oh, hey," he rubbed a hand through thick, unruly, dirt-brown hair, and focused his hazel eyes on her grey-blue before relaxing against a nearby barrel and folding his arms across his chest, "How are you?"

She folded her own arms in a subconscious mimic of his stance, "Fine, you?"

"I'm good," he remarked, and then quickly changed the topic, as though his own well-being bored him, "Did you know Ratchet brought in a huge haul of energon last night? I can still feel it from here."

"Did he?" Titania inquired rhetorically, glancing off into the general direction of Ratchet's lab, and narrowing her eyes as though that would allow her to feel the energon's presence from this distance as well, but all she felt was the beat of Ratchet's spark, made faint by the space between them.

She and Kicker were both what Ratchet had, rather unimaginatively, dubbed "Energon Sensitive." Their rather extreme sensitivity to energon, however, had come about as a result of nothing less than attempted genocide. It had been just before her eighth birthday, and the Decepticons had managed to poison the Resistance's natural water supply by lacing it with such minute traces of energon that it was undetectable. Humans, ever susceptible to such biological attacks, almost immediately became violently ill after drinking it.

Her hands clenched into fists at the memory; most of the adults whom had been poisoned died within forty-eight hours, and her mother had been among the victims. Nearly every other young child that had fallen ill had died within an hour, the undetectable amounts of energon being far too much for their small bodies to handle. Titania however, had _lived_. It had felt like she was being burned from the inside out, that acid was in her veins, that something was tearing at her insides and making her bleed white hot agony. She had coughed up blood, been delusional with fever, screamed until she couldn't scream anymore, cried in her father's arms as he watched helplessly, but, after days and days of struggling and begging her father to make it stop, her body had finally, miraculously, purged it from her systems.

But now, she, Kicker, and every other survivor of the poisoning—there were only about five all together, everyone else had died—could _feel_ the energy thrumming in the air whenever energon was present, they could _feel_ the rhythm of beating sparks before they ever even saw the Cybertronian to whom it belonged, and, unfortunately, it meant their bodies were even more susceptible to energon's devastating affects than anyone else on Earth.

Kicker was the most sensitive out of all of them, able to sense energon from greater distances, and better able to tell different sparks apart. It was what made him such a great sniper and scout on the battlefield; he didn't have to see the Decepticons to know where they were. She had once told him that she wished _she_ had that kind of precision with her ability, but then he had rather bluntly reminded her that his skin was constantly itching because of the proximity of his own weapons, and being within twenty-feet of any Cybertronian, even Ratchet, caused him physical pain that it took no small amount of will-power to ignore. It was just another reason why he preferred fighting from a distance.

"Any idea what they're doing with it?" Kicker asked suddenly, breaking her out of her chain of thoughts. She frowned thoughtfully as she considered the question, thinking back on her last briefing with her Uncle Bill several days ago. She shook her head, nothing in particular seeming to stick out.

"I don't know; it must be something big."

Kicker snorted, straightening his posture and reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. His next statement came out bitterly; "Probably another one of their 'turn-the-tide' schemes."

Titania's gaze narrowed into a glare, and one glance at her expression had the twenty-two year old wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

After her father's death, the Resistance had all but fallen apart. Fowler was considered its leader now, and Ratchet and Rafael were the advisors, but the fight had gone out of almost everyone else. Now, it wasn't about trying to reclaim their planet or fight back, it was about trying to survive. Often, said survival required excursions to the abandoned cities in search of supplies, which were regularly patrolled by Decepticon forces, thus making the "missions" incredibly dangerous. Fowler, Ratchet, and Rafael, however, had continued to try waging the war that the others had already decided was lost, and a rift had been growing between the leaders and the followers for years now. It was the opinion of many that their location was a safe one; and, that as long as they didn't go out on anything but supply runs, and didn't attempt to strike back like Jackson Darby had all those years ago, then the Decepticons were unlikely to ever find them, or even care to try finding them. So, in their eyes, the few were pointlessly jeopardizing the safety of the many.

Kicker thought they were right. Titania thought they were cowards. It had always been a point of contention between them, and it was unlikely to ever be resolved.

"Look, Titania," Kicker began as he reached a hand out to her, his voice apologetic, though she knew his thoughts were anything but. She stepped out of his reach, still glaring at him.

"You owe it to my father," she reminded him coldly, then abruptly turned on her heels and marched away, not needing to look back to know that Kicker probably looked like she'd slapped him. In a way, she had.

Kicker had been only ten months old when the fortress of New Kaon appeared in Nevada, and the Decepticons began their campaign to conquer Earth in earnest. The then-sixteen year-old Jack Darby had found him wrapped in the arms of his dead mother as he and Arcee made their way through New York City as it was torn apart around them. Jack had taken him without a second thought, named him, and, with his own mother's help, had raised him. Everything Kicker had—what little it was—he had because of Titania's father and grandmother, and she would never let him forget that.

Titania broke into a jog, her anger causing her usual brisk walk to be too dissatisfactory as she made her way to the edge of the camp where Ratchet had set up his lab in a cave, with a grey tarp draped over the entrance and pinned to the surrounding ground and stone so that it wouldn't flutter in the wind and draw attention to itself.

She slowed back to a walk as she entered, the rage gone out of her, and felt slightly guilty for using Kicker's debt to her father against him once again, but she pushed it aside as she entered. Garbled voices echoed in the cavern, and shadows danced on the distant stone wall as the cave's current occupants and visitor moved about from around the natural bend.

"…are we sure we should even be _thinking_ about trying this?" Fowler's warped voice reached her, and she paused curiously, laying a hand against the rough stone wall and tilting her head as she listened. "I'm not against it," he went on, "but we have to consider exactly what it is we're trying to accomplish here, and whether or not it's really the best option we have."

"Agent Fowler, it is the _only_ option we have left to us. Or would you rather live to see your own species' extinction?"

That was Ratchet's voice, and a pause followed it as she felt her heart clench at his words. She knew it was the unspoken truth, now voiced and unable to be taken back; unlike the other Resisters who just wanted to try starting over, hiding for the rest of their lives, her uncles knew they couldn't, this world was dying and they were going to die with it. She, personally, would rather die fighting than with her head in the sand.

After another moment, Fowler spoke again.

"Are we sure it will even work? What if we make it worse like those eggheads in all those bad sci-fi movies?"

A new voice joined the fray; "Ratchet and I have run countless simulations, Fowler; we're eighty-seven percent sure it will work. As for making things worse, well…I don't think it _can_ get any worse."

Titania frowned at Rafael's words, wondering what it was her uncles were talking about.

"But that's not a one-hundred percent certainty. Are you telling me it's do or die time now?"

"It has been for the past twenty years, Agent Fowler," Ratchet reminded the ex-army ranger with a heavy gust from his vents, "And Titania, if you're quite done eavesdropping, get your aft in here. Your medical exam is already overdue enough as it is."

The sixteen year-old wasn't too surprised that Ratchet knew she was there; he always did, and she half-suspected he had set up some kind of motion sensor at the cave entrance to inform him of visitors.

Stepping around the corner, Titania found herself looking at an old, worn out Cybertronian that was nearly as grey as the surrounding rocks, were it not for the few areas of faded paint that remained on his armour. His blue optics were tired, ancient, as they had always been so long as she had known him, but, for the first time in her life, she thought she saw a grim determination in them, and a flicker of hope he was trying desperately to suppress for fear of disappointment and crushing failure.

From his position standing beside her Uncle Ratchet, a brown-haired man with a goatee and glasses offered her a small smile of greeting, but said nothing as he closed the computer balancing on his hand. His brown eyes were sad and dull, but she saw Ratchet's determination—or perhaps it was desperation—reflected in them.

Her beloved Uncle Raf had never been quite the same since Bumblebee died a mere two years ago, saving his life no less. Afterwards, he had spent more time in Ratchet's company than any human's, so much so that he had become the second permanent resident of the lab.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a thick arm threw itself around Titania's shoulders, pulling her close to a thick-set chest where once there had been more than a bit of a pot-belly; well, according to Ratchet anyway. Titania had only ever known her Uncle Bill as the way he currently was; grey-haired, agelines etched into his face, but eyes lively and determined, and body made tough and fit from years spent running and fighting.

"Well there you are, Wreckin' Gal," Fowler exclaimed, grinning down at her; it seemed a little forced to her, "You sure were taking your sweet time; now get over there and let the Doc' do his thing." He lightly shoved Titania in the last Autobot's direction, and she stumbled slightly, sending her favourite uncle a glare over her shoulder, even as she ignored Ratchet's grumbling about being called "Doc'" by nearly every human being in the camp.

That, in itself, however, was mildly surprising; everyone thought he had stopped grumbling about it long ago. It had been assumed that it was because he just didn't have the strength to care anymore.

"All right, you know the routine," Ratchet stated, readying his scanner, Titania instantly went stock still as the beam of blue light washed over her.

Titania had once been told by the medic that he had learned everything he knew about the human body from her own grandmother, June, whom the teenager had never met, just like so many others she'd only ever heard about. When she was a child, though, her father had told her that it was June who held her first in this world, after having just delivered her, and that her grandmother had taken one look at her squirming form and chuckled, saying; "She's gonna have her mother's guts and her father's heart, I can see it already."

The thought always made Titania glow with pride, yet ache with longing to have met the woman whom had died the very next day, killed by Decepticons while trying to pull a wounded soldier to safety.

The blue beam flickered out of existence, and Ratchet hummed thoughtfully at the readings he was receiving; he looked up at her, and stated bluntly, "You have elevated stress levels, and appear to be suffering from exhaustion; nightmares again?"

Titania pursed her lips, gaze never wavering as she stared up at him; but she didn't answer, she never had to.

"Well, otherwise, you seem perfectly fine. No head-aches, dizziness, nausea, strange tingling?"

"I'm tingling right now," she informed him, clasping her hands behind her back and tilting slightly to try to see around Ratchet's large form, eyes narrowed suspiciously in the direction of the energon storage room. This close, she could feel the same invisible thrum of raw energy in the air that Kicker had been talking about, whispering to her from behind the pulsing presence that was Ratchet's spark. It was running through her body like a chill.

"Yes, well your sensitivity to the presence of energon is hardly what I was referring to."

"Oh, but there's an awful lot more energon in here than usual," she stated, and glanced over her shoulder to give Fowler a knowing look, "and I bet it has something to do with whatever crazy plan you guys were just talking about, right Uncle Bill?"

Fowler's mouth set in a grim line, and he glanced between Ratchet and Rafael. Silence reigned over them all.

"Oh, come on," Titania growled, folding her arms defiantly across her chest, "Seriously? Mankind is on its last leg and you guys are gonna do _this_?" she demanded, referring to their constant habit of trying to protect her when she clearly did not need protecting, not anymore; she'd helped kill too many Decepticons, she'd seen too many of her fellow Resisters incinerated, crushed, and blown up, to be seen as a fragile little girl any longer. And she would not stand for them thinking of her that way now. Not when it sounded like they had a plan to finally turn this war around. "Look, everyone else in this slagging camp has given up, they think the three of you are part of a dead legacy that needs to be buried and forgotten so they can focus on just getting by. I am the _only_ one who wants to fight; I am the only _Energon Sensitive_ willing to help you; besides yourselves, I am _all you have_."

Silence fell again, and she stood with her hands on her hips before them, waiting for them to make a choice, and knowing that she _needed_ to be a part of whatever they were planning. She was sick of feeling helpless, she was sick with the knowledge that her world was nothing like what it once was, and she was absolutely _sick_ of knowing that, if mankind died, if this war never turned around, then everything her father believed in, fought for, and died in the name of, was just as worthless and dead as the world she walked on every day.

Finally, Ratchet vented above her, the warm air from his systems gusting over her and rustling her hair.

"Very well; as we were telling Agent Fowler, if this succeeds, nothing else will matter," the old mech fixed her in his optics, the gravity in them causing her gut to do a painful flop as she realized this was going to be nothing like that failed attempt to call forth Autobot reinforcements from the depths of space so many years ago, or anything like the attempt to rig a shipment of energon to explode once inside the walls of New Kaon.

Rafael spoke; "After much discussion, we have come to the conclusion that, in order to save Earth's future," he looked up at her, and, for the first time since Bumblebee's death, she saw true life in his eyes, and a burning determination that made her feel like she could face down Unicron himself and know no fear.

"We must change its past."

* * *

Err, I get the feeling that those who aren't very fond of OCs might stop reading this now. I hope not. I'll admit I've never had much luck when introducing an OC to a story, but I hope this one is acceptable. Kicker himself (yes, based off of Kicker from Transformers: Energon) likely won't appear past the second chapter, except in flashbacks, and I hope that nobody plans on screaming at me for making Titania "Energon Sensitive" as it is, sort of, an actual ability from the Transformers universe. Furthermore, I've made certain that the ability is going to be just as much a drawback for her as it is an advantage. By no means will this OC be overpowered, and, in fact, she is going to make just as many mistakes and bad judgement calls as her parents did in their youth. So, I hope you all keep reading. For those who do plan on stop reading, please at least wait until the time-travel part to make your final decision, it should be either chapter two or three.


	3. The Things We Leave Behind

Hiya! Here's the next chapter, originally, it was going to include the implementation of their plan, and end with the actual time travel part, but then I realized that would make this chapter way too long and probably force you guys to wait an extra week. I'm updating a little early since I won't have the chance to do so later.

FFV: I'm always so happy to hear-or, uh, read-your enthusiastic reviews! Makes me wish I could respond sooner than my update. Unfortunately, this chapter doesn't really answer any of your questions about time travel, though I will tell you that the future they are currently in does change. Ratchet's past self will provide his own time travel theory after he meets Titania for the first time, which won't be for at least another one or two chapters, and it will further be expanded upon by certain happenings that would spoil the story if I wrote them down here. "I'll make sure the Decepticons can't follow," ah, yes, I do so love the smilarities between those two. ;) As for the writing on Titania's dogtag, I actually took that from the episode "Toxicity" in which Fowler is giving Bulkhead a pep talk that went something like this: F: "You _know_ why you take the mission," B: "Honour, Duty-" F: "Family." I then just expanded upon it a bit.

Anywho, hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter Two: The Things We Leave Behind**_

_A tired seven year-old rubbed at her groggy eyes, staring up at the smiling figure whom had woken her from her sleep._

"_Daddy?" she mumbled, and yawned._

_Jackson Darby sat on the floor beside his daughter's sleeping bag, an old coffee can in his hands; he smiled tiredly at her, body bruised and aching, blood crusting his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had cut him. Really, the first thing he should have done upon returning to headquarters was go see Ratchet and get cleaned up, but he had come too close to death today to want to be reminded of the fact. He needed to see his little girl._

"_Hey honey," Jack whispered quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else up in the large room where the children were kept. He affectionately ran a hand through her hair. "I brought you something."_

_That woke her up quicker than the smell of food, and she looked excitedly at the coffee can in his hands, wondering what was inside._

_Chuckling, he handed it to her, and she peered eagerly within, only to frown at the sight that greeted her._

"_It's dirt," She commented blandly, looking up at him with a pout. Jack smiled knowingly._

"_Look a little closer."_

_Frowning, she did, and she saw a spot of colour coiling hesitantly out of the soil, as though fearful of the world it was being born into. Her eyes lit up excitedly._

"_Is this, is this a _plant?_" she asked eagerly, and the reminder that she had never seen one pained Jack deeply._

"_Yep, that's a plant," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and holding her close. "I found it today, just sitting in the dirt; I was so surprised to see it there that I thought I was dreaming at first, and I wanted to show it to you, so I replanted it and brought it here."_

_A horrible thought occurred to the little girl as he said this; "But Daddy, won't it die now? Why didn't you leave it there so it could grow?"_

_Jack sighed, "Because it wouldn't have, sweetheart. I found it on a battlefield; eventually, somebody would have crushed it, whether it was a human or a Con. And do you know why I'm giving it to you?"_

_She hesitated a moment, considering, and then shook her head._

"_Because," he began, "As long as this little guy is alive, there's hope for our planet, for mankind, and I'm trusting you to take care of him and keep him alive."_

_He kissed her on the forehead, and his next words filled her with a profound sense of purpose and destiny._

"_I'm trusting you with our future."_

* * *

Titania stared sadly at the sickly thing; its lustrous green had faded to yellow long ago, and it was barely hanging onto life. The leaves drooped, and the stem seemed to shiver as though the plant had contracted some sort of chilling fever.

It had been slowly dying for years, just like the planet that was failing to produce more of its kind; and every morning that Titania looked at it, it seemed more ready to give up and decay than the last. The sight made her stomach clench with dread, and she felt like she was somehow failing her father, like she wasn't doing enough to protect the little piece of the future that had passed from his hands to hers.

She inhaled deeply, and then let the breath out as a gusty sigh that set the little plant shivering even more than it had before, and she instantly ceased breathing and watched in horror, for a moment thinking it might suddenly collapse like a felled tree. She gave another, tinier, sigh of relief when it didn't.

Currently, Titania was making her way through the camp with the old coffee can in hand, trying to hunt down one man in particular, yet hoping she wouldn't find him so she wouldn't have to say goodbye, knowing it was the last time she would ever see him.

It had been a month since her uncles had filled her in on their plan to go back in time, and the thought of it still made her reel with disbelief. They were telling her they had found a way to stop all of this from happening at all, and it seemed far, _far_ too good to be true.

Of course, it wasn't going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination. They needed a groundbridge to do it, and the only one currently in existence was the one in New Kaon, the Decepticon stronghold itself. She'd only ever heard horror stories about the fortress, and the thought of trying to hold the groundbridge for any length of time was so daunting that it made her feel like she might as well put a gun to her head and pull the trigger herself for all the good it would do them. But she knew there wasn't much choice; it was either do it and succeed or die, or definitely die later.

The past month had been spent in preparation; the plan itself had already been laid and hammered out long before she'd been made privy to it. Of course, it was by no means foolproof, and leaned strongly towards the foolhardy and suicidal, but she agreed with her Uncle Raf and Uncle Ratchet; there were no other options left to them anymore.

During the past thirty days, she had worked hard on building up her endurance far past its already impressive limits, and recent Decepticon encounters during supply runs had her eyeing each enemy like they were a unique opportunity. Each Decepticon was a chance to discover new weaknesses and learn to exploit them, and a chance to reduce the number of Cons that would be in their way later.

Titania wasn't excited about their upcoming mission—she was too scared for that—but she'd be lying if she didn't say that the thought of it—of seeing her parents again, of meeting all the heroes that had died before her birth—filled her with a determination forged from titanium; because, finally, _finally_, after eight years, there was purpose in her life again, and a way to keep her promise to her father had laid itself at her feet as though by a design of fate. Still, she worried that they might fail, and that was why she was currently planning to entrust this swiftly fading future to someone else, if only to feel like, if she died, she will have truly done all she could.

She found Kicker by the paddock where the cows were kept. They were thin, sickly creatures, with nearly every rib showing, and she often found herself wondering if they were killing themselves faster by drinking their milk and eating what little there was of their flesh.

"Kicker?" She called quietly, her voice seeming too loud to her in the evening gloom as she approached him.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, his expression seeming quite bored, and a glimmer of trepidation flickered through his eyes at the sight of her, making her feel guilty yet again for bringing up her father the last time they had spoken. He seemed to still be upset with her, if the sudden rigidness of his stance was anything to go by, and she couldn't blame him. Titania knew that, if there was anyone in the Resistance who had loved her father as much as she had, it was Kicker. But _he_ wasn't the one carrying Jack Darby's name like an invisible weight on the shoulders that became heavier every day; _he_ wasn't the one who was haunted every night by the knowledge her father had given her, the knowledge that this—all of this—was _not how it should be. _She couldn't help but both envy and resent him for it.

"Did you need something?" Kicker asked; she stayed silent a long moment, having difficulties remembering the speech she had rehearsed just for this. All of her words seemed like senseless jabber now that she was standing here before him, trying to say goodbye for the last time without wanting him to know that it was so.

"Yes," she finally replied, and practically thrust the plant into his arms, wincing as it wobbled dangerously on its stem with the motion, "I…I have to go away for a while, I'm not sure when I'll be back," _I'll never be back, _she amended silently,"And I was hoping you could take care of this little fella for me."

For a long while, Kicker simply stood there, staring dumbly at her as he held the coffee can she had forced into his arms.

"What do you mean you're 'going away'?" He demanded suspiciously after a moment, eyes narrowing contemplatively. She straightened her posture, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she let out a huff that she hoped he would interpret as annoyance; particularly, as annoyance at the apparent density of his brain.

"I _mean_, I'm going away; you know, as in leaving the camp and going somewhere else?"

"But…_why?_"

She very nearly turned around and marched away at that moment, finding herself irritated by all the questioning. Though, if she were completely honest with herself, she would admit that it was because she didn't want to look at him anymore than she had to. Because if there was one thing she was going to miss about this future at all, it was going to be him.

Their relationship had always been an odd one. They were friends, best friends; but that had never stopped them from trading harsh words and just plain hating each other's guts somedays. That had never stopped them from picking at each other's deepest wounds, splitting them open again only to then desperately try stemming the flow of fresh blood that streamed into the present from the past. She couldn't be certain—since she'd never truly had one of her own—but Titania thought that, perhaps, that was just what siblings did to each other. They beat each other down because they could—had to, even, to feel that an accident of birth could never, _never_ damn them—but, at the end of the day, were willing to build each other back up because their anger could never hold a candle to the fear of losing the other.

As it was, the thought of never seeing him again made Titania's throat close up, made her thoughts repeat like a broken record—_no, no, no_—and made her want to latch onto him and beg him to stay no matter what. She had lost so much in her life that she didn't want to sacrifice anything else, and it seemed like, if she went through with this, he would be as dead to her as her father. It took a great amount of willpower to remind herself that she was doing this for him too. If this worked, Kicker would never be an orphan; he'd grow up in a house or apartment with the parents he couldn't remember, and, hopefully, he'd grow up happy.

But he'd also grow up without her.

Was it selfish then, that she wanted to tell him what was going on? To ask him to come with them? If they succeeded, she had no idea what would happen to the timeline; what would happen to _him._ The Kicker she knew could very well cease to be, and she was fully ready to admit that she didn't want _this_ Kicker to disappear; because the Kicker of a different future wouldn't be _her_ Kicker…in fact, his name probably wouldn't be "Kicker" at all.

Yes, then, she supposed it was selfish of her; but that didn't stop her from wanting it.

"I have a mission, duh," she snapped at him in response, all these mixed contemplations taking up only milliseconds of her time; she crossed her arms, trying not to let him see the aching grief that was ripping her up inside, mourning him as though he had already gone and died on her.

Kicker's suspicion only deepened, his lips pursing tightly together as he stared her down. As he seemed to reach a conclusion, realization dawned on his face, and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Whatever it is they're doing, you're going with them, aren't you?"

Titania's posture stiffened, and she defiantly lifted her chin even as her gut sank. This was _not _the way she had wanted this conversation to go.

"Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

_Oh yes, invite an argument with your best friend when chances are you'll die within the week and he'll live in guilt the rest of his life because of it, _a voice snapped sarcastically in the back of her mind. It certainly did nothing to help loosen the knot of apprehension in her stomach.

Kicker opened his mouth as though to snap out an angry retort—as he always, _always _did—and his eyes darkened; but then he only growled and viciously shook his head in response. "You know what? Forget it, it's not like you ever listen to me anyway." With that, he slammed the coffee can onto a nearby crate with an echoing _clang_, and turned on his heels, marching briskly away.

Startled by the unexpected response, Titania felt the knot in her stomach fold in on itself at the sight of his swiftly retreating back. She couldn't let him walk away right now; she couldn't let this be her last memory of him.

"Kicker?" she called anxiously after his retreating form, "Kicker, I'm _sorry_. Kicker!"

He kept walking, and she took several steps forward as though to chase him, only to stop in her tracks, clenching her fists and shaking her head helplessly.

Here they were, doing it again; _hurt, hurt, hurt _and _fix, fix, fix._ And suddenly, it was painfully obvious to her that he had every right to walk away. Somehow, and she wasn't quite sure when it had started, she had been steadily pushing him away without even seeing it, and now that _he_ was the one walking out on a conversation for once, the one not forgiving a careless statement, it had all become so startingly clear.

As much as she had wanted him to stay in her life, the space in it that had once been reserved for him had been slowly gobbled up by her obsession with keeping her father's legacy alive; by fighting for a future that Kicker didn't believe was possible anymore. In his eyes, she was a petulant child who didn't seem quite able to figure out that, yes, touching the fire would burn you every time.

Titania turned to the crate, steadying herself on its edges, and lifted a finger to gently rub along a shrivelling leaf of the sickly plant that had been so ruthlessly abandoned there. It promptly detached from the stem and fluttered to the ground at her feet, making the ache in her chest all the more painful.

A wave of weakness rose up inside her, filled with doubts and spiralling emotions too complex to assign any one name to them. But with a burst of willpower—_this is for him, this is for him, this is for all of them_—and the gritting of her teeth, she slammed her titanium determination back down on top of them. They _would_ succeed, and now, to her, it was more important than ever that they did; because she knew that, if they didn't, and they died, Kicker would blame himself and live in guilt all his life with the memory that this conversation was the last they had seen of each other. And, if there was one thing she could do to make up for adding to her best friend's—her _brother's_—misery all these years, it was making sure he never experienced it at all.

Inhaling deeply, as though trying to draw strength from the tainted air, Titania fondly patted the side of the coffee can, whispering half-heartedly, "Wish us luck, eh?"

Giving the forlorn plant one last, regretful look, she turned and marched out into the steadily darkening evening, holding her head high, as she knew her father would have.

As though sensing her departure, the sickly plant wobbled and, with a tiny _snap_ that only the herd of cattle were privy to, its stem finally broke, and it tumbled over the lip of the coffee can, laying as still as the dead.

* * *

Another bump in the road slammed Titania's head into the wall.

"Ow! Frag, Ratchet!" She angrily thumped a fist on the offending interior of Ratchet's vehicle mode, which she and Fowler currently sat in the back of, while Rafael occupied the passenger seat in the cab. "Where the Pit did you learn to drive? We don't have seatbelts back here ya know!"

A snort echoed within the small confines, and Titania could clearly picture the medic rolling his optics had he been in robot-mode.

They had left the Resistance camp in the middle of the night nearly four days ago, taking only the excess in supplies that had been accumulated specifically for this mission. As they had stolen away in the shadows, Titania had wondered if this—the anxiety, the guilt, the heart pounding in her ears and feeling like everything was closing in—was what a thief or deserter felt like whenever they stood on the precarious edge between turning back and moving irrevocably forward. She tried _not_ to think of the four of them as deserters, but she knew that, when all the others realized they were gone, having taken valuable energon and equipment, that was exactly what they would be branded. She could almost hear the murmurs and vehement snarls that had surely been cycling through the camp the day after they left.

_Cowards. Traitors. Fools. Selfish slaggers._

She shook her head, trying not to think about that. In the event this mission failed, the others could and _would_ survive without them—something that they actually had the gall to point out themselves the last time Fowler called a war council—as long as the planet did, at least; so the fact simply was, they weren't abandoning anyone. They had practically been given a free invitation to leave.

Titania sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How much longer until we get there?"

"About ten hours," Fowler answered.

She looked up, and found him tapping his fingers against the maps spread out between them. Upon one, the colours that had once indicated separate states were faded, and the boundaries that divided them were nothing more than archaic ideas lingering in the back of a person's mind. Megatron had, after all, divided up the entire damn planet to his own liking when he conquered it, heedless of its pre-existing borders. The second map indicated these very changes the warlord had wrought; instead of the fifty states of the US staring back, it was just one large grey land, with different regions marked out in spiralling Cybertronian glyphs and vague English translations scribbled beneath them in black marker.

The second map had been obtained by Rafael when he hacked a dead trooper's processor several years ago, and that, coupled with the thirty-five year old's occasional, sneaky eavesdropping on Decepticon communications, had given the Resistance a pretty clear idea of the enemy's patrol patterns over the years.

"Why don't you try getting some more sleep," Fowler suggested after a moment, with a soft expression on his face as he scrutinized her exhausted appearance; bags under the eyes, drooping shoulders, and a noticeable lethargy in every slight movement, "I'll wake you when we're two hours out."

Titania yawned despite herself, vigorously shaking her head. "You can't sense them coming, you need me awake."

Fowler frowned at her sternly, "We'll need you awake when we get there, not half-dead on your feet. When's the last time you slept through a full night?"

_Never, _she was tempted to say, but instead kept her mouth shut. The fact was, she'd barely gotten eight hours of sleep in the entire past four days; her fears of a wayward patrol happening across them had kept her up most of the time, and plagued her sleep in the few hours of shut-eye she managed to snatch.

"Hmm, that's what I thought," Fowler stated knowingly, "Now, go to sleep."

An unhappy scowl slipped onto her face, but she was, admittedly, tired. She could fight if she had to, especially once the adrenaline kicked in, that she knew from experience, but she wouldn't be able to fight very long. So, reluctantly, she attempted to do as she was told, curling up on the floor, using a large, bulky, and overstuffed backpack as a pillow. It was by no means comfortable, especially with Rathet's vehicle mode somehow managing to hit every pot-hole on the road; but compared to some of the situations she'd been in, it was almost like sleeping in a real bed, not that she knew how that felt or anything.

With all the thoughts whirling around in her head, though, it felt like she would never sleep again.

"Hey, Uncle Bill…what's the first thing you're gonna tell your younger self?" She suddenly asked. For a moment, there was no reply, but then she heard him chuckle.

"I'm gonna tell'im to lose some damn weight, that's what."

"Ah; wise advice, that," Ratchet teased, and Fowler thumped a fist against the floor.

"Ah, shuddup tin can, I wasn't askin' you," the ex-army-ranger grumbled. Titania let out a snort at the display, before snuggling back into the rock-hard backpack.

"What about you Uncle Raf?"

"I…I dunno…" he replied, and she didn't have to look to know that his brow was likely furrowing in serious consideration. "I guess, if there was just one thing I was allowed to tell him, it would be," she heard the smirk in his voice as he finished; "'Get some damn contacts, glasses are annoying.'"

She let out a laugh at that, and then placed her hand, palm flat, against the warm floor of Ratchet's alt-mode.

"And you, Uncle Ratchet?"

For a long moment, the only living Autobot didn't reply. When he finally spoke—so long after she had asked that she had decided he must not want to answer—it was with such a self-recriminating tone that she wished she hadn't asked at all.

"I'd tell him not to be such a fool."

No one had anything they wished to say after that, and a somber silence fell upon the group. In the back of her mind, she could hear her father's voice telling her again what he had told her the first and last time she had asked him why her beloved Uncle Ratchet seemed to hate himself so much.

"_He blames himself for a lot of things, Titania; things that nobody can change."_

Shoving aside her backpack, Titania placed her head against the floor, ear pressed to the thrumming, living metal beneath her. All around her, she felt the pulse of energon through his systems, and it made the parts of her skin that were in contact with his body tingle numbly.

Ignoring the questioning stare Fowler threw at her, Titania offered the great metal being the closest thing to a comforting embrace that she could in this situation, whispering quietly.

"We'll change it together, Uncle Ratchet, I promise."

This time, he said nothing.

* * *

Well, there's that chapter. Review! They are like energon cubes! Oh, and I forgot to mention, when the time travel occurs, they will end up at a point in time just recently after "the Human Factor", but a week before the events of "Legacy"


	4. When It Rains

Hmm, I'm not entirely sure I like this chapter, it's also my shortest one yet. I'm not very good at fight scenes and tactics honestly, so, I apologize in advance if it's not as epic as people were hoping for. Now for the anonymous reviews! You know who you are!

FFV: I'm used to their younger selves too, so I actually found them hard to write. I like to think Fowler and Raf joked about what they'd change because those were the only things left that weren't depressing to think about. And then, of course, Ratchet had to take her question seriously. As for Titania and her parents; yes, her opinion is going to change. Her parents have not yet become the people she remembers, and, because of her interference, they may never. I think I'm going to have fun toying with her views on them, especially considering Jack's rather "dorky" beginnings. Since this chapter answers your speculations, well, I feel no need to say anything about that. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter Three: When It Rains...**_

"…_Bumblebee?" A faint, unbelieving murmur on the wind. The shape before her eyes blurrs into an indistinct mass of faded yellow paint. One last, faint wisp of life whispers across her skin and falls painfully silent._

"_Bumblebee?"_

"_Uncle Raf…" a sob, a hiccup, a hand flying to her mouth as something wet trickles down her face._

_His head leans into the cold, cold metal, and she reaches out, a hand on his shoulder._

_He trembles, and she stares at the blackened edges of a gaping hole, only able to think that the stillness is so, so very wrong._

_Tears flow, and surely it will be a mercy if they drown her._

* * *

Boulders littered the plains around them, some being only Titania's height, while others were at least a little more than half Ratchet's size. A single tall cliff cast a long grey shadow upon the colourless earth. Titania idly thought it reminded her of a single tower, plopped smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.

Pushing such trivial musings from her mind, she gripped her cannon tightly in her hands, cautiously fingering the trigger as her eyes warily roamed the sky. She knew she would sense a patrol before she ever saw it coming, but she watched anyway, for once feeling as though her ability might fail her at the moment she needed it most. Uneasily shifting her weight from foot to foot, she tossed a glance over her shoulder to where Ratchet and Rafael were huddled over a communications jammer, one large Cybertronian digit hovering over the on switch as they waited. More than a dozen feet away, Fowler stood at the ready, eyes glued to the clouds as though expecting a Decepticon to drop out of them and into sight at any moment.

The tension between the four of them was as taut as a bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Where was that _damn_ patrol?

"It should be here soon," Rafael announced from his place crouched by the jammer, as though having read her mind, double-checking the charts in his hands as he did so.

"Are you sure this is where it's gonna call for pick-up?" Fowler inquired once again. It was a question he had asked several times since their arrival, and, as with every time before, Rafael nodded.

"Positive. We've been plotting out their patrol routes for months; this is the place."

Fowler merely grunted, clutching his gun just a little tighter as he called to Titania, "Sense anything yet, Wreckin' Gal?"

Titania opened her mouth to reply in the negative, only to pause as she felt a sudden flicker on the edges of her consciousness, steadying out and growing stronger and closer at an alarming rate.

"Incoming! Eight o'clock!" she shouted, hefting her cannon. Behind her, Ratchet turned the jamming device on just seconds before a silver jet dropped out of the clouds and spotted them.

The reaction was immediate.

Energon blasts slammed into the Earth where they had been standing just seconds before, and Titania rolled to a stop on her knees several feet from her previous position. Twisting around, she rapidly fired at the Decepticon as it passed overhead, letting out several colourful curses as every single shot was gracefully dodged.

She really fragging, _hated_ members of Starscream's personal armada.

She was on her feet and running for cover not a second after, ducking behind one of the numerous boulders as energon blasts continued thundering against the Earth all around them.

The silver jet whistled overhead, circling around for another run.

_Come on you slagger, _Titania prayed silently, even as she shot off several rounds at the Decepticon before running for a different cover. _Take the high ground, damn it!_

As though under the power of suggestion, the silver form of the jet pulled up sharply and transformed mid-flight, landing on the cliff far above the Resisters, and took aim with its blasters once more. Titania felt a satisfied smirk spread across her face.

_Flyers _always _take the high ground._

"NOW AGENT FOWLER!" Ratchet bellowed urgently, and Fowler detonated the charges without a second thought.

Promptly, the stone beneath the Decepticon's feet exploded with a thundering roar. A ball of brilliant blue fire erupted outwards as the outcrop shattered and crumbled, shaking the earth as it tumbled down from its majestic height, dust and debris scattering in every direction.

From her position crouched behind a particularly large boulder, Titania felt the energy from the Energon blasts ripple through her skin, leaving behind an irritating tingle. She tentatively peeked around to stare at the wreckage of the outcropping, hoping the Decepticon was dead or at least in stasis lock from the blast.

It seemed like a good omen to her that the Decepticon had done exactly as they had hoped, immediately seizing the high-ground as all flyers tended to; a high ground that Ratchet had climbed before the patrol's arrival, and rigged with high-powered energon charges in preparation for it. And as the dust settled, revealing the Decepticon's head, visor darkened, and a long, clawed servo sticking out motionlessly from beneath the newly made pile of rocks, Titania could only hope the rest of the mission would go as smoothly.

"Wreckin' Gal?" Fowler called questioningly, and she closed her eyes in response, knowing what he was asking. She concentrated, which was mildly difficult with the headache she felt coming on, and tried to seek out any indications that there was still a Spark pulsing somewhere in the slagger's chassis.

After a moment in which she felt only the faint, whispering, and quickly fading, residual energy from the explosion, Titania slowly shook her head. "I think we're good."

With that assurance in hand, the four of them approached the rubble, with Fowler reaching the limp form first. Hesitantly, he tapped at the clawed servo with his foot, his gun still aiming at the figure's head, and posture tense.

When, after several moments, there was no reaction, he lowered his weapon and glanced at the rest of them.

"Well," he began, "time for phase two, then."

Something flickered faintly, almost imperceptibly, in Titania's range of awareness, and she frowned, eyes drawn to the prone Decepticon's form.

The flicker flared. Horror gripped her. Before she could even open her mouth to scream, the Decepticon struck.

Claws ripped through armour. Blood splattered. And Fowler stared down in shock at the claw that had pierced through his chest.

"NOOOO!"

Titania wasn't sure who screamed louder; herself or Ratchet. But before she could react, the medic was there, scalpel mercilessly slamming through the Decepticon's armour to the spark chamber beneath, severing its last, faint ties to life with a savagery Titania had not known the last Autobot possessed.

Again, a flickering visor darkened and the form was still.

Titania ran to Fowler as his limp body slid off the claws that had run him through, thudding to the earth that was splattered with the too bright colour of his blood.

"Uncle Bill? Uncle Bill!" she screamed as she fell to her knees beside him, cradling him in her arms, uncaring of the blood that was now staining her own black armour. She could only think that, _Oh Primus, this is my fault. This is all my fault._

"Wre…Wreckin'…Gal…?" he coughed up blood, and it dribbled down the side of his mouth as old, unfocused eyes struggled to latch onto her face.

She wanted to scream for Ratchet; but she had seen death often enough to know he was too far gone for the medic to do anything. So, instead she murmured, "I'm so sorry, I-I didn't sense it, it was too faint...I'm sorry. _I'm sorry_."

"N…not…your…your fault," he stared up at her, and she was barely aware that Rafael stood at her shoulder, and that Ratchet could no longer bear to look upon them. "Jus…just save…save them all…Wreckin'…Gal…"

And with that, the man's eyes slid shut, there was one last shuddering breath, and then he was still.

Titania thought that maybe she should be screaming right now, maybe she should be crying, maybe she should be throwing herself upon those sharpened, already blood-drenched claws and ending the twisting pain in her heart.

But she had a promise to keep, a mission to finish, and far too many to avenge to allow herself to fall apart just yet. Raging and weeping would not bring him, or any of them, back.

So she stood, covered in his blood, and turned to find that her Uncle Rafael had already gathered his own composure, and was setting to work in hacking the dead Decepticon's processor, primarily, his communication network.

Ratchet had retrieved the jammer, turning it off to allow the pinged request for a groundbridge through to New Kaon. The Decepticons wouldn't know it was a human who had sent the standard ping from their dead comrade's comm. link.

There would be no time to bury Fowler; their window of opportunity was shortening with every moment, and each knew that he wouldn't want them to waste it on a lifeless shell.

"_People die in war," _he had told her once, shortly after her first mission at the age of twelve, _"and we can't always stop to grieve for them the way we should, as callous as it seems."_

"Are we ready?" Titania asked, shoving her own grief to the darkest corners of her heart.

"Just waiting for the—" Rafael was cut off as a great, swirling vortex of colour eagerly opened up before them as though to welcome its now-dead patrol home.

Without hesitation, Ratchet threw a primed stasis grenade—courtesy of the long-dead Wheeljack—through the spinning vortex, pausing for only a moment to allow the grenade to do its job before charging in after it, two humans at his heels.

The groundbridge spun shut after them, and wind whistled over the desolate plain that had once more fallen into utter silence.

* * *

"How much longer?" Titania demanded, aiming her cannon at the door that they had magnetically sealed immediately upon their arrival, from which numerous bangs were echoing alongside the roars of Insecticons.

Three dead Decepticons littered the groundbridge control room, their helpless, stasis-locked forms having had their spark-chambers brutally cut out by a medic who could no longer bring himself to care for the ideals his beloved leader had once preached so long ago.

Those ideals wouldn't help them now.

Unfortunately, it hadn't taken as long as they had hoped for the Decepticons to realize the control room had been seized by their ragtag band, and, while Ratchet was modifying the groundbridge through the use of various tools, the rest of the Decepticon army had come knocking. At the consoles, Rafael had locked Soundwave out of the groundbridge computers, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard, and eyes zipping across lines of code; he knew it wouldn't last very long though, and then the communications officer would open a groundbridge right outside their door to let the Decepticons in. At the same time, the technician was monitoring Decepticon communications and fighting a cyber-battle to try and lock down as many corridors leading to them as he could.

"Just a few more minutes!" Ratchet shouted back.

"We don't _have_ a few more minutes Ratchet!" Rafael exclaimed; his bespectacled visage glued to his screen. "Megatron's on his way!"

The medic let out a string of expletives that would've made Wheeljack proud, hurrying to finish as fast as he dared.

Another echoing bang slammed into the sealed door, and it finally buckled inwards the slightest bit.

"Ratchet…" Titania trailed off worriedly, heart pounding in her ears as the door shrieked and gave a little more. _Please don't let this be for nothing,_ she prayed to whatever deity was willing to listen, _please let this work._

"Got it!" the medic finally exclaimed, slamming the panel shut. "I'll activate the groundbridge! Both of you get over here and get ready! The groundbridge will be too unstable to stay open very long."

Both humans hurried to comply; Rafael disconnected his computer in a rush, hopping skilfully from the console to the chair to the floor, and Titania abandoned her vigilant watch of the door to run towards the groundbridge.

At the same moment that Ratchet pulled the lever and the groundbridge swirled into being, pulsing unstably due to the strain of ripping a hole through time, the door was blasted open, crumpling against the far wall in defeat.

A terrifying, enormous figure that Titania had only ever imagined in nightmares strode casually into the room, fusion cannon still raised and smoking. With a vicious battlecry, Ratchet leapt at the tyrant responsible for all their misery, crossing his scalpels just in time to prevent being cleaved in half by the Dark Star Saber.

"RATCHET!" His name tore itself from Titania's throat as she stared in horror, because she knew he could never win in a fight with Megatron.

"GO!" He screamed; scalpels cracking as he was forced onto his knees.

Titania's eyes darted across the room to Rafael as he ran towards her and the open bridge, and he must've seen the hesitance, the questioning, in her eyes as he shouted; "Go! I'm right behind you!"

She spared one last glance at Ratchet, and her eyes were drawn to the burning red optics of the Decepticon warlord whom stared at her with little more than boredom. Hatred stronger than she had ever known reared its ugly as she snarled at him; "You're going to _fucking_ pay."

And then she turned and ran into the bridge, its vortex flickering even more rapidly as it began to crumble. She heard the thudding of Rafael's feet as he entered behind her, heard the screeching of the groundbridge as it tried to stabilise itself, and then, in the moment before it finally gave out and sent her hurtling into a burning darkness, she heard Ratchet scream.

* * *

Titania let out an agonized cry as she hit the dirt, her armour smoking and scorched. She curled up into a ball and lay there, pulling her burnt hand against her chest as though that would help chase the pain away.

"Slag, slag, _slag_," she hissed, eyes burning, but she bit back the tears; she would not waste them on mere physical pain. She inhaled deeply, trying to get the pain under control.

"Uncle Raf…" she called once she was sure she could speak without screaming, and slowly sat up, her whole body aching, "Uncle Raf?"

No reply came, and she looked up and around, throat going dry as she realized she was alone in a desert she didn't recognize, small pinpricks of light shimmering through the night in the distance.

_He was…he was right behind me!_

On the verge of panic, she called out again; "Uncle Raf? Uncle Raf! _Rafael!_" She staggered to her feet, despite the agony of the burns on her left hand and her face; she suspected her skin was likely an unpleasant red beneath her bodysuit as well. She ignored the smell of her singed hair, and it wasn't until she looked down at the ground, catching the glint of starlight being reflected off of _something_, that she knew what had become of the last of her uncles.

His glasses lay in the dirt, the frame scorched and blackened, the lenses cracked; and the sixteen year-old dropped to her knees beside them, heart pounding in her ears in a perfect rhythm with the _nononono_ mantra running through her mind. Hesitantly, she reached a shaking hand out for it, wincing as her bare fingertips made contact with the still smoking metal before grasping it and pulling it against her chest as she doubled over, forehead nearly touching the earth.

She screamed her rage into the empty night, tears pouring down her face and darkening the dirt—she wished they would drown her, because they weren't doing much else for her agony. Even after her throat was raw, and her screams were hardly more than pathetic croaks, she kept trying to scream anyway, even though she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She could still hear the voice telling her they were gone.

* * *

Well, there it is; I apologize for its shortness compared to the previous two chapters, but there didn't seem to be a way to make it longer and I didn't want to draw it out. We're back in the past now though; YIPPEE! Next chapter: Titania exposes herself to one of her parents, and the real hard part begins; convincing the Autobots that no, she's not crazy. (It might be a while before this one's up, exams and stuff)


	5. The Faces of Tomorrow: Part One

Here's the next chapter! Originally it was going to be twice as long, but I've decided to split it in two. FFV, responses to your reviews will be written at the bottom from now on. On another note, please enjoy my readers! It tried to put some humour into this one.

* * *

_**Chapter Four: The Faces of Tomorrow—Part One**_

"_Mommy, what are these?" The six year-old girl who spoke held up a bundle of faded papers, and her mother's face momentarily adopted a look of mild surprise. Carefully, the woman reached out to take them from her daughter's hands._

"_Where did you find these?" She asked quietly as she reverently unfolded them and spread them out on the desk she was currently sitting at, having been writing out a report of her unit's last recon mission._

"_In the box of books," Titania replied, pointing eagerly at the aforementioned box where salvaged books for the children were stored. There was everything ranging from picture books to twelfth grade textbooks._

_The six year-old eagerly stood on her tip-toes, trying to see the papers over the edge of the desk; "So? So? What is it?" she demanded, and Miko chuckled lightly, pulling the girl up onto her lap where she could see the papers more easily._

"_These are star charts," she answered, and a finger traced the lines that connected various labelled dots, "they show constellations in the night sky."_

_The six year-old frowned; "What's a constellation Momma?"_

"_It's a picture made of stars," Miko answered simply._

"_Ooh…" The look of deep contemplation on Titania's face was the only warning Miko had before the girl asked; "Mommy, where did all the stars go?"_

_Miko ran a hand through her daughter's brown hair, sighing, "You can't see them anymore," she told the girl, "The clouds cover them up now."_

_Titania's shoulders slumped in disappointment; "Oh."_

"_I remember your father once tried pointing out the constellations to me," Miko murmured, resting her chin on her daughter's head as she stared nostalgically at the charts before her, "It was after he came back from Cybertron the first time; I asked him which of the stars he thought it was," she chuckled at the memory, "I wasn't expecting an answer, really, but then I ended up being treated to a boring astronomy lecture somehow and was tempted to throw him off the top of the base."_

"_Mommy!" the little girl reproached, horrified._

"_Oh, relax sweetheart; that was a long time ago. And now…"_

_She sighed as her fingers traced Orion, the only constellation Jack had taught her before she'd lost even the vaguest shred of interest and left him standing there alone._

"_Now I'd give anything to see the stars again."_

* * *

The sun had risen about an hour ago, and Titania might've stopped to marvel at the colours of the untainted sunrise, a sight she'd never seen before, if not for the fact that her back had been turned towards it. The heat of the desert was making her dizzy, and certainly not helping her burns hurt any less. She trudged tiredly through the sand, having woken at dawn from a grief-induced, restless slumber filled with the last moments of her uncles' lives. With some effort, she had then forced herself to her feet, repeating Uncle Bill's last request over and over in her mind; _save them all_.

Now, she sluggishly forced one foot after the other in the direction of the distant highway, where an occasional dark blotch sped by on the horizon. Her pack remained strapped to her back, weighing her down even further, and every step shot pain through her body and made her head spin.

The sixteen year-old was vaguely aware that she was likely dehydrated, and not only had the overload from the bridge burned her rather badly, but the energon radiation from the blast was making her entire body shake painfully, her muscles sometimes suffering from random spasms. She thought idly that, if she wanted to live, she needed to get out of the sun and get somewhere safe where she could wait for the effects of the exposure to wear off.

If she was completely honest with herself, though, Titania would admit that she was sorely tempted to sit down and never get up again; to just stop and let it all end there with her because how, _how_, could anyone expect her to do this alone? She was never _supposed _to do this alone. It was only the voices of her loved ones in the back of her mind, desperately whispering to her—_we're alive, you went back, it worked, we're still alive_—which made her grit her teeth against the pain and take another step each time she was convinced she had taken her last.

She dragged her battered body and soul along like that for what seemed like an agonizing eternity, stopping only on those occasions when her trembling knees gave out; and then she would lie there for a moment before one of those whispering voices would speak louder than the others, calling frantically from behind the curtains of half-faded memories.

"—_they need to be stopped!"_

"_There were no survivors."_

"_Decepticon BASTARDS!"_

"_Stay with me, Titania; I can't lose you too…"_

And then she would pull herself shakily to her feet again and repeat the process over and over until, finally, she stood on the side of the currently empty highway, staring blankly down at the pavement, mind lost in half-jumbled thoughts of the then and the now.

Suddenly, loud music reached her before the rumble of an engine did, and she tiredly glanced up at the green off-road vehicle that was driving her way. It seemed familiar, and her thoughts told her she had seen it before, though never in person.

She walked out onto the highway at the sight of it, spreading her arms wide and standing in its path, vaguely aware she had to get its attention for some reason that a single voice was trying to scream at her from amid the many that drove her forward. She wished they would all shut up for just a moment so she could think, but, as the world seemed to brighten drastically, making the greens seem a little more yellow, and the yellows seem a little more orange, the voices only grew louder, ringing violently in her ears.

"_Titania…"_

"_I _have_ to do this!"_

Brakes were slammed. Tires squealed. A door swung open and an angry face appeared above it, waving a petite fist in her direction.

"Hey! If you're looking for an anime convention, you're totally in the wrong place! So move it! I have a date with destiny to get to!"

She stumbled, hands against the hood of the truck, dry voice cracking as she tried to speak, knowing that, somehow, this loud girl and her car could help her. _Had_ to help her.

"Prime…take me…to…Prime…"

Suddenly, the world grew too bright as it tilted and the cheerful yellow lines of the road rushed happily towards her.

* * *

Ratchet studied the formula for synthetic energon with a single-minded focus, knowing that the quiet hours of the early morn were the only chance he'd get to work on it today. He grumbled at the thought, already lamenting the soon-to-be deceased quiet that he had once had no short supply of. That had been before the humans came along, and Primus only knows how he managed to get _anything_ done with them around, especially _Miko_. He shuddered at the thought of her and that infernal noise she called music. Hmm, he wondered if anyone besides Bulkhead would feel bad for the girl if he were to "accidentally" step on her favoured torture instrument.

The thought of how satisfying it would be, the high, discordant shriek and snap of the guitar strings as the hardened plastic cracked beneath his pedes, never to make a sound again, was enough to make him chuckle quietly.

"Is everything all right, Ratchet?"

"Gyah!" the medic whipped around, servo pressed over his chestplate, and optics wide. Optimus stood there, his face entirely impassive but for the optic ridge he had raised at the medic's reaction. "Optimus; are you _trying_ to give me a Spark attack?!" How a mech the Prime's size could even sneak up on him like that would forever remain a mystery.

"I apologize, old friend; I did not mean to startle you."

"I…it's fine," Ratchet mumbled, turning back to his screen, feeling slightly embarrassed that his leader had been present during his darker musings, regardless of whether or not the Prime knew what those thoughts were. Recalling his little "daydream" made him pause, servos hovering over the console, frown on his faceplates.

Was he seriously taking pleasure from the imagined destruction of inanimate objects now? _Seriously?_

He wondered briefly what that said about his mental state, and he couldn't help but groan in despair at the implications and brace himself on the edges of the console.

"Are you not well?" Optimus asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," the old mech replied, "just thinking too much."

"Perhaps you should take a break then. The synthetic energon can wait."

"Maybe," he mumbled half-heartedly, rubbing at his helm; he paused, frowning, then glanced over his shoulder at Optimus. "I thought you were working on the weekly status report for Agent Fowler. He's stopping by to pick it up today, isn't he?"

"Yes," Optimus confirmed, "However, Bulkhead commed me a few moments ago; it would seem there has been an incident, and he will be arriving shortly for debriefing."

"Oh, wonderful," Ratchet muttered sarcastically as he considered what the nature of his recently discharged patient's "incident" could be, "What did he do this time? Don't tell me he walked into a powerline again; and so help me, if he damaged his repairs with that ridiculous 'dune-busting', I will personally weld him to the medical berth, and _never _let him leave!"

Behind the medic, Optimus' lips twitched briefly as though fighting an amused smile. It could never be said that the medic didn't care for his patients, no matter how idiotic the reason for their injuries may be.

Ratchet bit back a groan as he heard the familiar rumble of Bulkhead's engine, having momentarily forgotten one crucial thing. The arrival of Bulkhead meant the arrival of _Miko_.

_Ugh. Primus, have mercy on my Spark._

Surprisingly, Bulkhead drove into the base without his radio on. There were no indecipherable human words being screamed and screeched alongside audio-aching instruments. There was no instant transformation and impromptu air guitar performance by both human and Bot that always ended with another frustrated shout of "I needed that!"

Instead, once Bulkhead pulled to a stop, there was an urgent cry from his human charge as she shoved the passenger door open.

"Ratchet! You gotta check this girl out!"

Ratchet's thought processes stuttered to a halt on a single word.

_Girl?_

No. Oh _Pit_ no.

"Bulkhead! You brought _another_ human?!" There was no way he would be retaining what was left of his sanity at this rate.

"Take it easy Doc bot!" Bulkhead cried, still in vehicle mode since Miko was now dragging a limp figure out from his interior; as soon as the unfamiliar human was completely clear, the Wrecker transformed, holding his servos up in a placating gesture, "It's not what it looks like."

Ratchet was about to give an angry retort, only to stop as Miko suddenly fell on her rear with an "umph!" still attempting to carry the mysterious teen, and began shouting loudly.

"Hey Doc! A little help over here? We've got a patient who's heavier than she looks!"

"Patient?" The medic repeated, bewildered, and finally looked down to study the figure intently. The girl's left hand was an absolute mess of black and red skin—undoubtedly a third degree burn; there would be definite nerve damage, though he couldn't say how much—and the left side of her face was marked with blisters and red skin, though he was relieved it was only a second degree burn, and it was fortunate her left eye was untouched.

Now in full diagnostic mode, Ratchet kneeled to pick her up gently in his servos, hurrying her over to the medical berth; "Call Nurse Darby," he snapped over his shoulder, "I'll need her assistance."

Miko flicked open her phone, and in moments was informing the ER nurse on the other end of the situation. Meanwhile, Ratchet was running scan after scan, frowning at the readings he was receiving.

_Energon radiation? _Baffled, he looked down at the girl again, and stared searchingly at the peculiar armour she wore; he found what he was looking for in the form of scorch marks. It wasn't so much the presence of the scorches that was most telling, but rather their randomized pattern; they weren't starburst shape, as from blaster fire, or even the longitudal streaks that would indicate a close call rather than a direct hit. Instead, they were like blotches of carelessly tossed paint.

_Bridge burns, _Ratchet deduced; they'd been rather common around the base when he had first built the groundbridge, and it had taken a month to work out the glitches (_stupid and inferior human technology)_ to the point that there wouldn't be any unpleasant backlash. Of course, it had never caused any serious harm to the Autobots who went through—the groundbridge had never been unstable enough to cause that powerful a backlash—but it had certainly ruined their paintjobs. But they were made of metal, humans weren't, and a flesh-and-blood creature suffering the backlash of a groundbridge…

He looked once more at her badly burnt hand. He suspected that, had she been in whatever bridge it was for any longer, she wouldn't have made it out at all. The medic was then displeased to learn that, according to his scans, she had first-degree burns beneath her unusual skin coverings as well. Burns bypassing both the armour and body suit meant that whatever groundbridge she had used was unstable enough that the displacement of space took place not only around the groundbridge, but also within it.

That begged the question though; when would this girl have gone through a groundbridge? And what _idiot_ would've sent her through something so clearly unstable?

Miko snapped her phone shut and rushed to the upper level where the TV and couch were located, announcing cheerfully; "Jack's mom's on her way!"

"That is good to know," Optimus' deep voice rumbled, and he turned to the green Wrecker, "Bulkhead, please tell us what has occurred."

"Uh…" the large mech scratched at the back of his head, frowning in confusion, "I don't even really know myself, Boss-bot; me and Miko were on our way here when she just suddenly jumped out in front of us on the highway, and then…" he trailed off, clearly thinking, but then shrugged, "Well, she was looking for _you_, Optimus."

The Prime's optics widened ever so slightly in surprise.

"Yeah!" Miko jumped in excitedly, drawing their attention, "She was all like—" the girl gripped the railing as though to steady herself, gasping dramatically as she did so, "'Prime…take me…to…Prime…' bleargh…" the fifteen year-old then promptly proceeded to collapse onto the floor, eyes closed and tongue half sticking out.

For a moment, there was a silent pause in which they both just stared, before Bulkhead bluntly stated; "Yeah, that's pretty much what happened."

A thoughtful look came over Optimus' features as he addressed the Wrecker once more, "Do you have any idea as to where she may have come from?"

"Eh, well, not really," Bulkhead confessed while Miko picked herself up from the floor and leaned on the railing, he then scratched at his plating uncomfortably as he spoke; "but with the amount of sand she dragged into my interior, it's like she crawled out of the desert or somethin'!"

"She might have," Miko added thoughtfully, and then her expression lit up; "Hey! Maybe that backpack she had has something it can tell us!"

"Backpack?" Optimus repeated questioningly, seeing no such object in sight.

With an exclamation of "Oh, right!" from Bulkhead, the Wrecker opened his chest compartment and pulled out a large, black backpack that looked to be of some military grade. He set it down at Miko's feet, and the girl promptly began to search through its contents with much more zeal than Optimus felt the situation warranted.

"Uh, she also had these, Boss-Bot;" Bulkhead began, holding his hand out to the Prime, something closed within the large fist, "You might wanna take a look at 'em."

Optimus held out his hand, and two small objects were dropped into it. He stared at them, magnifying his optics to get a closer look, and what he found startled him.

They were weapons, clearly; one appearing to be a human pistol, and the other—most disturbingly—a scaled-down and slightly altered version of a clearly Cybertronian cannon.

The first conclusion to pop into Optimus' mind was that MECH was somehow involved; they had cracked the code of Cybertronian biology, after all, it only made sense that they would find a way to alter Cybertronian weaponry for human use. However, that conclusion then begged the question of when and how a mere human child had come into possession of such weapons, considering that Silas—or rather, CYLAS—was most assuredly dead this time. He supposed it was possible the girl had become involved with them even before the Damocles incident, perhaps even before the revealing of the Prime's own, dark look-a-like. He couldn't quite see the remnants of MECH recruiting teenagers, but he wouldn't put it past them to stoop so low. It would, at least, explain how the girl even knew about the Autobots.

The Prime's musings were interrupted by the flashing green lights and blaring noise of the proximity alert, and he walked up to the main console, pulling up a video feed that revealed Nurse Darby's shiny red car approaching. He opened the silo's entrance for her, and turned to watch as the vehicle came to an almost screeching halt, its driver barely waiting for the car to stop before killing the engine and getting out, not even bothering to close the door behind her as she rushed towards Ratchet's makeshift medical bay on the other side of the room.

"Patient's condition?" the ER nurse demanded even as Ratchet reached down to offer her a hand up, gently depositing the woman on the berth beside the young girl.

"Third-degree burns on the hand, second-degree burns on the face, and first-degree burns scattered across the rest of her body, as well as mild bruises," the medic began rattling off, "Indications of extreme dehydration, and traces of energon radiation that is wreaking much more havoc on her nervous system than it should be, though it does seem to be wearing off on its own."

The medic's report was news to the others in the room, and it was Bulkhead who first managed to ask the question; "What was she doing near energon?"

Ratchet briefly looked at them, optics focusing on the optics of his leader as he spoke; "She's been through an unstable groundbridge, no more than twelve hours ago at the most."

Optimus' frowned; MECH hadn't yet reverse-engineered bridge technology, of that they were certain, so where had this girl come from? She surely couldn't have come from the Decepticon warship, though he was not willing to completely rule out that possibility, however outlandish and unlikely it seemed.

"Nurse Darby, what do you—"

"I need to remove the damaged tissue on her hand," June replied, cutting off the medic, "It doesn't look like she'll need any skin grafting, though there'll be definite nerve-damage; she'll probably lose all sensation on the back of her hand and possibly in one or two fingers."

June let out a tired sigh, looking at the girl before her, thinking that she was too young to be so hurt and remembering the sight of a grey, shallowly breathing Rafael. Then, as all mothers did, she couldn't help but think that, under different circumstances, this could have been her own son lying here. That one day, it might be.

* * *

Long after June and Ratchet had taken the girl into surgery—of which Optimus had been assured would be relatively straightforward and quick, barring any complications—in a sterilised back room where Agent Fowler had been storing human medical equipment ever since Rafael's encounter with Dark Energon, Miko continued rifling through the girl's things, becoming frustrated as she found more and more useless and boring things. There was some kind of weird sealant, a strange, cell-phone looking thing that wasn't quite a cell phone—it looked too…_off,_ for that—a medical kit that looked like it had seen better days and was missing most of its supplies, military rations, an empty and beat up water canteen, military rations, ammo cartridges, flashlights and batteries, advanced looking glow-sticks, and…

Miko paused momentarily as she came across a pair of scorched and cracked glasses. She pulled them out with a frown, thinking that the square and mostly red frame looked familiar somehow. Humming in thought, she tapped a finger against her chin, then closed one eye and tilted her head, tongue sticking out in concentration as she tried to place exactly where—

"Hey Miko! What're you doing?"

The Japanese girl gave the small twelve—_and a half—_year-old an irritated look as he stared back with his curious eyes from behind the lenses of his red and square framed glass—

Hit with a revelation, Miko glanced back at the ruined spectacles dangling from her fingertips.

Oh. _Oh._

Now that was kind of weird.

"Miko?" Rafael Esquivel repeated questioningly, mildly disconcerted by the fifteen year-old's thoughtful look and persisting silence.

"Hey Raf!" she greeted cheerfully, as though nothing strange had just happened. "You'll never believe what happened to me and Bulk today!"

Immediately, the girl launched into her tale, being sure to include her dramatic re-enactment of the mystery girl's dead faint.

Bumblebee jumped in with several clicks and beeps when she was finished, childish looking optics wide.

"Seriously?" Raf asked the teen, though Miko wasn't sure whether it was his own question or if he was just translating something the yellow scout towering over them had asked.

"Yep!" She replied enthusiastically, and, now ignoring the existence of the recently returned pair, went right back to digging through the overstuffed bag, wondering if she could find anything else weird like those glasses.

Bumblebee bleeped something, and Raf translated; "So what did you find so far?"

"Eh, nothing interesting;" the girl replied, waving to the discarded pile of stuff. Knowing that Miko's version of "interesting" was vastly different from anyone else's on base, Raf began rummaging through the abandoned contents himself, frowing at the presence of equipment that was so clearly _military_; didn't Miko say that their strange visitor was probably her or Jack's age?

He was distracted from his careful examination of the "uninteresting" objects by a surprised exclamation of "Hey!" that drew both his and Bumblebee's curious attention back to Miko, who was currently holding up a pink, old, and slightly beat-up cell-phone that looked just like her own.

"It looks like mine!" The girl exclaimed unnecessarily, holding up her own cell phone beside it as though in comparison.

"Does it work?" Raf asked, "It might have some videos or photos and contact information on it that could help us identify her."

In response, Miko flipped it open to reveal a slightly cracked screen, and held the power button for several moments. When it failed to turn on, even after several tries, Miko's shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"I guess it's broken."

"It might just be a dead battery," Raf suggested, and held out his hand, "Here let me see."

With only a smidgeon of reluctance—this was _her_ great discovery after all, well, her and Bulk's—Miko handed it over to the diminutive computer genius, who promptly flipped it over and pried open the back, only to discover the battery compartment was abandoned.

"…Or it might have no battery at all." He concluded, "Maybe we can use Miko's."

"Great idea!" Without any further prompting, the girl popped out her own cell phone battery and eagerly handed it over, watching as Raf placed it into her cell phone's grimy twin with an audible _click_. Miko and Bumblebee both looked over his shoulder as he powered it on, the yellow Autobot letting out a whir of anticipation as the screen flickered to life with a minute vibration and Raf promptly selected the camera function, proceeding to scroll through the photos. Both humans inhaled sharply at what they saw, and Bumblebee let out a sharp buzz of surprise.

"That…" for once, it seemed as though the Japanese exchange student was at a loss for words, and it was Raf who formed the first coherent sentence.

"We've gotta show Optimus."

* * *

Well, there's that one; sorry if anyone seemed out of character; when I started writing this chapter, I had a set idea in mind, but then it just started growing and growing and decided it was taking a slightly different route.

FFV: First of all, sorry that Megatron's brief appearance last chapter was a "meh" moment. I know he's not usually so quiet, and I confess that the main reason I left him so, was because I couldn't think up any Megatron-like dialogue that wouldn't detract from the mood or moment of the story at that particular point in time. In fact, Megatron's probably the hardest character for me to write. Plus, I like to think that he considered their invasion of New Kaon as an annoyance hardly worth his time since, for the Decepticons at least, the war is over and done with, and they are the victors, meaning he would've just killed them and been done with it (It's not like he knew they were going back in time). Secondly; only two bots and one human are going to know Titania's parentage, and a few others are going to suspect bits and pieces, but it'll be a while before any of those pieces start fitting together. When I said Titania was going to reveal herself to one of her parent's this chapter, I may have been unintentionally misleading, considering she already has in the way that I meant it. And, yes, there's going to be some disbelief among those who know of Titania's parentage. As to your questions regarding Miko and Jack falling in love, in my mind, Miko has had a small crush on Jack since the beginning of Season 2 when she started seeing him as less of a boring dork and more of a man to be counted on when push comes to shove, and her volunteering to go to New York in Tunnel Vision was as much an attempt to impress him as it was to prove she could be useful too. As such, these feelings grew throughout the entire season (though admittedly I only conceived this idea after watching "Darkest Hour"). Jack, in my mind didn't begin to return those feelings until after Optimus' death, when Miko revealed a deeper and more mature side of herself that he'd never seen. Things just kind of went from there. I'm not quite sure yet how their relationship's going to develop in an altered timeline.

Now, as for Titania's nickname, she didn't really "get" it in any specific way; Fowler has been calling her that since she was a baby, in a way, it was to honour Bulkhead, who died shortly after Miko had found out she was pregnant and had once moaned to him jokingly about having a "mini-Miko" running around, who, as we all remember from Con Job in Season 1 as well as Hurt in Season 2, can "wreck with the best of them". So, just like June "knowing" that she'd have her father's heart and mother's gut, Fowler kind of just "knew" she was going to be a mini-wrecker. I know Titania doesn't seem to have done much Wrecking at the moment, but there's still plenty of chapters to go. Thank you for the Christmas wishes, and I hope you had a Merry Christmas too!

Whew! That was a long reply. And I apologize now to any reviewers whose reviews I haven't replied to; unfortunately, I was working all Christmas break. See you all next time.


	6. The Faces of Tomorrow: Part Two

Modified and updated this chapter; nothing too much. Clarified some instances in which the identity of the speaker was uncertain, and changed the dates mentioned by Miko and Raf to; present day: October 26th date-stamp of photo: November 1st

* * *

_**Chapter Five: The Faces of Tomorrow—Part Two**_

Optimus stared at the image being presented to him on the tiny screen Rafael held in his hand, and, though his shift in expression was only very slight, anyone who'd spent long periods of time in the Prime's company would see that shift as a near blatant frown.

"Miko," he began, slowly, careful not to sound accusatory, as he finished digesting exactly what the sight before him meant, "You are certain that no one has had access to the images on your cellular device?"

"I'm positive!" the girl protested from below him, leaning over the rail as she did so; his optics swivelled from the screen to the exchange student's face, finding no indications of guilt, and she seemed just as disturbed and confused by the image's contents as the rest of them. If someone _had_ managed to get a hold of her phone at any point, it had not been with her knowledge.

The Prime turned his attention back to the image of Bulkhead and Smokescreen standing side by side, Smokescreen giving a cocky grin and a "thumbs-up" gesture that he could remember Miko teaching to him moments before demanding that the two reconciled Autobots pose together for a picture. Beside the rookie, Bulkhead, with laughter in his optics, grinned knowingly at the camera as he held two digits up behind Smokescreen's helm in a human gesture Optimus did not recognize.

This photo had been taken only a mere two days ago, and the implication that someone else had somehow managed to copy the image in that time, without arousing any suspicion, did not bode well for the Autobots' security. Again, MECH was the first suspect to pop into mind. They had proven themselves to be an efficient force on numerous occasions, and, despite the death of Cylas, Optimus was not quite convinced the organization was completely gone.

If there was one thing Optimus knew for certain due to the many eons of war, it was that a second head was always eager to replace the first. Starscream was a prime example of that. Still, it all led back to questions he'd already asked himself and received no answer to. The pieces of this puzzle simply weren't fitting together to form any recognizable picture.

Optimus resisted the urge to sigh or rub at his helm; their mysterious new arrival was becoming something of a processor-ache.

Suddenly, the base's proximity alarm was set off once more, bathing their world in green light.

Bumblebee beeped a startled question, turning to look at the Prime with his wide blue optics. Again, Optimus resisted the urge to sigh as he remembered the one event of the day that had actually been planned beforehand.

"Yes, it would seem Agent Fowler has arrived."

Sure enough, when the proximity alarm fell silent, the elevator shaft doors split open, and a dark-skinned man in a blue suit, the jacket undone to provide room for his slightly over-sized stomach, strode into the silo.

"Prime!" Fowler's traditional greeting was always a quick way to determine the agent's mood; in the beginning, Optimus' title had only ever been used as something of a curse, and often continued to be used as such whenever Fowler was charged with cleaning up the messes the Autobots and Decepticons often left behind. However, over the course of time since the Decepticons' return, Optimus had noticed a subtle change in attitude in their liaison. No longer did he seem to see them as metal nuisances that had brought hell upon his planet, and no longer did he seem so eager to profess that the Autobots were not doing all they could, and that mankind could do better. Perhaps the agent had finally stopped seeing them as mere machines, and actually viewed them, for lack of a better term, as human.

Since then, Optimus had noticed during the man's now weekly visits, "Prime" was not spouted as a curse, but rather as a greeting between comrades. So when Fowler said his name _that_ way upon entering the silo, Optimus was genuinely sorry that he was about to ruin the man's good mood.

* * *

"Mommy, where did the stars go?"

_The night sky reflects in a cracked lense, the stars a million beautiful specks of light that mock her from within the glass._

"We'll change it together."

_She chokes on a breath; the air, the fresh, clean, air, is like poison. The silence hammers smugly in her ears until it is so quiet that she thinks she can hear a whisper across time. A whisper from two different futures that somehow seem the same, united in their final breath._

"Why couldn't you save us?"

_And the tears trail down her face like liquid fire, burning her failures into her skin like a brand; and she looks up to see the one who holds the metal there to mar her flesh: hazel eyes colder than the warm eyes she remembers should ever be. They demand answers, explanations, and promises she cannot make because she has already _broken _every last one. And suddenly, those hazel eyes are the grey-blue that she misses, staring down with concern from a face that is not her father's, but _was a woman, with black hair tied back and a kind smile on her face as she spoke:

"Hi there, I'm June Darby. Nice to see you're finally awake; how are you feeling?"

Titania stared up at her blankly for a moment, unable to reconcile the fuzzy images of a few moments ago with the suddenly crisp, clear, unshifting presence of the painfully familiar woman who hovered over her.

_I was dreaming,_ the sixteen year-old realized suddenly, her mind sharply clicking into full awareness. The second thought to occur to her was; _Oh, right, I'm in the past, _followed promptly by _Holy slag, did she say June!?_

Titania bolted upright, only to cry out in pain as her body protested the sudden movement, and it took all of her willpower not to simply curl into a pathetic ball and moan miserably.

"Hey! Take it easy!" June—her living, breathing, _grandmother_—admonished sharply; "Your body's still fighting off the Energon. And I wouldn't try to use your left hand for a while if I were you."

_Left hand? _The time traveller looked down at said appendage, raising an eyebrow at the heavily banadaged hand.

"You have a third degree burn," Nurse Darby began to explain, "We had to surgically remove the damaged tissue, and there's going to be nerve damage, though Ratchet and I are optimistic that the loss of feeling will be minimal…"

Titania stopped listening as soon as she said Ratchet's name, and the sixteen year-old's gaze darted around the room, eagerly searching for him—_he's alive!_—and quickly finding him standing on the other side of the room, hovering in the gigantic doorway behind June.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, causing June to trail off from her explanation and glance hesitantly between the two. Ratchet was different—_so_ different—from how she remembered him, how she had always known him. His paint was crisp and clean, the white and red dully reflecting the lights overhead; so many scars, dings and scratches were gone, and, looking in his optics, she saw a perpetual irritation, a reluctant curiosity, and at least a smidgeon of that irrepressible concern every medic, nurse, or doctor had for the lives placed into their hands. But there was no festering guilt or agony, no indications of an ever-present inner torment that was tearing him apart, no tired resignation to onlining every day and having yet another dead world to greet him with the knowledge that it was_ over_.

For a moment, she had to question whether or not this really _was_ Ratchet standing before her. So familiar, yet so different…she felt her throat closing up with emotion as she, unbidden, remembered him screaming at her to go, crossed scalpels cracking and red optics boring into her—

"I'll inform Optimus that she's awake," the medic said, breaking the silence, and vanished from her sight with one last glance in her direction. As soon as he was gone, Titania closed her eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. A hand fell upon her shoulder and she looked up into Nurse Darby's reassuring expression.

"Hey, don't worry, you're safe here; I understand their size makes them intimidating, but they're not going to hurt you. They just want to ask you some questions," June told her earnestly, and Titania could only assume that her sudden loss of breath had been mistaken for fear of the looming titan that had been in the room with them.

In a way, she supposed it _was_ because of fear; fear that she would fail, have to watch him fall again. Fear that, for everything she knew, all that had been sacrificed to get her here, she wouldn't be able to change anything anyway.

Titania opened her mouth to speak, only to have her dry throat burst into flames as she bent over and coughed violently.

_Water…water…_her inner voices pleaded desperately, and, as though summoned by her desperation for something to drink, Titania felt a bottle of water being pressed into her good hand.

"Here; drink up," the nurse told her, and she needed no more prompting as she brought the lukewarm beverage to her lips and greedily guzzled it. She had never tasted water as wonderful as this; it was so…so _clean_. By the time she came up for air, the bottle waspractically empty.

She cleared her throat as she handed it back to June with a hoarse "Thank you."

"You're welcome," June smiled as she spoke, and Titania found herself marvelling once more at the fact that this woman was her own grandmother. It caused a stab of pain in her heart, and a longing far more profound than any she had felt when the woman had still been just a vague, distant figure conjured in the back of her mind. She was overwhelmed with the temptation to throw herself into the woman's arms and sob out all her troubles, telling her everything, and to ask for something as mundane as a story of her father's own childhood, because she had been deprived of something so simple all her life.

"What's wrong?" Nurse Darby suddenly asked, scrutinizing her face with concerned eyes. Titania chuckled bitterly, a voice in her mind distantly telling her she was likely on the verge of hysterics.

"That's a loaded question;" she stated bluntly in response, and watched as June frowned at her, brow creasing in thought.

Before her grandmother could push for a real answer, the thundering of large, metal feet heralded Ratchet's return, and, this time, he had company.

Titania couldn't stop the widening of her eyes or the slight gaping of her mouth as she craned her neck to look up into the face of a mech she had only ever heard stories about: stories of bravery and self-sacrifice, of humble beginnings and impossible odds, of a broken brotherhood, and burdens that would've brought lesser beings to their knees and kept them there long ago.

"Greetings," his deep voice rumbled out, and she could picture him, giving a speech to a cheering crowd of Autobots whom his voice alone had given the strength to move not mountains, but entire worlds. "I am Optimus Prime; and this…" with an enormous servo, the Prime of her childhood stories gestured to a man who had just entered the room; a man, whom, even though his hair was no longer grey, and there were no longer quite as many lines in his face, and, yes, _there_ was the excess weight Ratchet had always mentioned, was still a man she'd recognize anywhere.

"_Bill!"_ His name burst from her lips with a strangled cry, and her hands flew up to cover her mouth, her own fingers digging into her cheeks, setting the bandaged left side of her face on fire as though the burning tears of her dream had not been a dream at all.

Her eyes watered, her breath shortened, and, for a moment, she held him in her arms again and watched the life flow out of him in a river of red. She heard his croaking gasps as he struggled to speak and she knew, she _knew—_

_Why?Why?Why?WHY?_

The Prime's concerned voice sounded distant and distorted; "Nurse Darby, what is happening?"

"She's hyperventilating!"

Hands, small, slender, and strong despite their deceptive size, seized Titania's wrists with a gentle, but pressing, force, and pulled them away from her mouth. June's form suddenly cut into her line of sight, blocking Agent Fowler from her view.

"Listen to me, kid, you need to _breathe_. I need you to focus only on me, copy what I'm doing, okay?" June inhaled deeply, "Breathe in," and then she let out a long exhale, "Breathe out…good…"

Titania let the voice of this stranger—someone whom she could not remember the death of—wash over her. She let the hands holding her wrists tether her and remind her: _it has not happened. Not yet._

Somehow though, such a reminder made this second chance feel like a cruel joke, because it had still happened to _her_.

Titania took another deep breath to steady herself further, even after the panic attack passed, and did not speak until she was certain she could do so without having her voice crack with grief in the middle of a sentence. "I'm fine now, Nurse Darby, thank you."

The woman scrutinized her for a minute, obviously not believing her, before turning to face the others; "Optimus, Agent Fowler, I think it would be best if we gave her a few days to adjust before—"

"No!" the word burst from Titania's mouth before she could think about it, startling her grandmother into silence as the nurse whipped back around to face her with a raised eyebrow that was clearly meant to remind her that she was _not_ the one with medical training here. "This is too important."

June folded her arms across her chest and frowned down at the girl before her; "Look here young lady, _I'm_ the nurse, _you're_ the patient. If I say you need rest, then you _need rest_. I'm sure that whatever it is can wait at _least_ a few days."

Titania began viciously shaking her head before June had even finished speaking. Now that she stopped to think about it, she wasn't even sure what day it was; Ratchet had tried to send her back at least a week before the location of the Star Saber was decrypted, but since there was no way to be that precise with the Ground-bridge, she had no idea _when_ she actually was. She wasn't even sure how long she had been unconscious either; hours? Days? How close to the end of the world was she really?

"Nurse Darby;" Titania began in the strongest voice she could muster, straightening her posture and tossing her loose brown hair out of her face as she steeled her nerves and shut titanium doors over her grief; "Thank you for your concern, but the information I have is vital not only to the Autobot-Decepticon war, but to the survival of the _entire_ human race. It _cannot_ wait."

For a moment, there was silence following her pronouncement, but it was broken by the sound of footsteps as they approached the bed in which the time-traveler was still ensconced.

"June…" a painfully familiar voice said, and Titania felt her heart clenching in agony, and, as Fowler's face came into view, and his hand landed on the Nurse's shoulder, she felt her titanium doors slowly swinging ajar.

_Stop it; _she snapped at herself vehemently, disgusted that, after a lifetime of fighting and hardening herself against such pain, she was becoming an emotional wreck at the moment when she needed to be strongest, _you have no time for this._

"We really need to talk to her;" Fowler went on saying, "We'll call you if anything else happens, all right?"

The Nurse cast a torn glance between them, lips pursing tightly, and it was only after Titania gave June a sharp nod—while wearing the most professional expression she could manage—that the woman finally relented with a tired sigh.

"All right;" she then whipped around and firmly poked Fowler in the chest, a fierce look of warning upon her face; "But you will keep it brief and to the point; I want all of you out of here in no more than an hour, am I clear?"

The dark-skinned man took a step back with wide-eyes, hands up in the universal gesture of surrender; "Yes ma'am."

June gave him one last warning glare before turning on her heels, black ponytail whipping out in a vicious arc of discontent, and headed for the door. She paused halfway there to crane her neck and look up into Optimus' faceplates and he, seeming to read a question in her eyes that Titania could not see from her vantage point, rumbled out gently; "Thank you Nurse Darby; I will ensure that she is provided ample time to rest and recover."

Finally seeming satisfied and fully reassured now that she had the Prime's word above all others, the Nurse left the room with a quiet; "Thank you, Optimus."

In the wake of her receding footsteps, an awkward silence fell upon the remaining occupants of the room. It was suddenly broken by the scrape of a chair as Fowler pulled one up to her bedside and sat down, staring suspiciously at her.

"Okay, kid. Spill. How do you know about the Autobots and Decepticons? Where have you been getting your information?" A frown creased the man's brow, "And how, in the name of Lady Liberty, did you know my name?"

Slowly, Titania glanced from face-to-face; Ratchet was leaning on the wall by the door, and Optimus stood a respectful distance away, unmoving, and his optics never straying from her. Suddenly, she felt completely out of her depth, and couldn't help but think that if only the Uncle Bill she _knew_ was here—

_He's not; _her inner voices reminded her, cutting off that train of thought, _you made a promise to him as he died; remember? You better damn well keep it._

"I guess I'd better start at the beginning…" Titania took a calming breath, and folded her hands in her lap as best she could—considering the bandages—before forcing herself to look into Fowler's deep brown eyes, which offered none of the comfort and encouragement she was used to.

"My name is Titania Darby, and I'm from the future."

Silence followed her statement. Not the kind of stunned silence that chased on the heels of an earth-shattering revelation, or the grim, tense silence in which the heroes of a story stood at a loss of how to save one of their own and the world at the same time…

No; it was the kind of silence in which you half-expected a cricket to start chirping.

And, as Fowler raised an eyebrow as though to ask; "Seriously? That's the _best _you could come up with?" Ratchet broke the silence with an odd sound that seemed to be the strangled offspring of a scoff and a chuckle.

"Right, the future…" the medic folded his arms across his chestplate, flicking a digit in the humans' direction; "And Agent Fowler there is a reincarnated Autobot warrior."

Said agent leaned back in his chair and crossed his own arms, his eyes clearly communicating how unimpressed he was with her answer. "Kid, I don't think you realize how much trouble you're in; you can make this easy on yourself by just telling us the truth."

"I _am_," she snapped, a part of her screaming that _no_, she couldn't come this far just to have them not believe her; "My name is Titania Darby; my parents are Miko Nakadai and Jackson Darby," she felt her voice rising as surely as Fowler's eyebrow, "I was born on November thirteenth in the year twenty-eighteen; six years after the death of Optimus Prime and the destruction of _this_. _Very_. _Base_!"

"The death of Opti…" Ratchet's baffled expression following her outburst quickly became indignant as his servos dropped to his side and clenched tightly; "How _dare_ you even—"

"Enough, Ratchet," Even though he didn't shout, Optimus' voice still managed to cut the medic off as effectively as though he had; the Prime's optics focused intently upon the self-proclaimed time-traveller with careful consideration; "I will confess your claim is a rather difficult one to believe;" he ignored Ratchet's angry grumble—_Difficult? More like damn impossible; Miko and Jack can't stand each other_—and went on, "is there any evidence you can offer to support it?"

"Evidence?" Titania repeated, enunciating each syllable slowly, as her heart grew cold and sunk; the gears in her brain turned viciously as she tried to think of any proof she could possibly provide. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, and took another, deep, calming breath before turning to the government officer sitting at her bedside. "Is there anything I can write with?"

"Uh…" Fowler stood up, patting down his pockets as he glanced around the room. His eyes landed on a notepad set inconspicuously off to the side—June's, most likely—and he quickly tore a blank piece of paper out before producing a pen from his coat pocket and handing both to her.

Titania promptly scribbled out four series of numbers before thrusting her materials back into Agent Fowler's face; "There."

"And these would be…?" Ratchet began questioningly, optics shuttering rapidly as he zoomed in to read the tiny numbers over Fowler's shoulder.

"The decrypted co-ordinates of four of the last five Iacon relics in the database, which, I may add, _Ratchet_ made me memorize," she shot the medic a glare as she folded her arms; she knew his skepticism shouldn't hurt, but it _did_. After a moment in which she took in Ratchet's highly skeptical and suspicious expression, Agent Fowler's disbelieving eyes, and Optimus' ever stoic gaze, she added; "Oh, and the last relic is actually _inside_ Smokescreen, just so you know."

That garnered a startled reaction; "_Inside _Smokescreen?" Ratchet repeated in disbelief. Titania gave a sharp nod of affirmation as she tightened her arms around her chest, as though that would keep the pieces of her repeatedly broken heart from being jolted violently out of place by every blow that reminded her she was _alone,_ and no one in this time period was on her side. Everyone here was a stranger wearing the form of one who had been stolen from her.

Titania forced herself to shove such thoughts aside and _focus._

"Take a look inside his chassis, scan it, whatever," she went on once she oriented herself, waving a dismissive hand as she did so, "inside you'll find an old, key-like object; if it's not there, then I'm obviously a liar, but if it _is_, you can be assured that I'm telling the complete and absolute truth." At Fowler's unconvinced frown, she, with an exasperated sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose and added with a vehement undertone; "And if that _still_ doesn't statisfy you, there's also a pink phone inside my backpack—I hope you _have_ my backpack—it used to belong to my mother, Miko; it has all of the photos of the Autobots and Decepticons that she's ever taken, including more than several dozen that she _hasn't_ taken yet. That's all the proof you should ever need."

Fowler's brow knitted together, and he glanced over at Optimus, "That's the phone Miko and Raf are looking at, right?"

"I believe so, Agent Fowler."

Titania froze in horror, heart fluttering more violently than a caged bird, and eyes widening as she stared up at Optimus, expression aghast; "_Miko's_ looking at it? My _mother_, is looking at it, at this very moment?"

"Yes," The Prime responded.

"You have to get it _away_ from her!" she shouted urgently—_you are a soldier, stop panicking!—_ "There are pictures on there of her and Jack, _together_; not to mention the three of us back when I was baby! If she or Jack sees those…"

Her hands flew up to press against the side of her head as the full implications sunk in and silenced the chiding voices that frowned upon her hysterics with disapproval. Her next words came out as a desperate whisper.

"I might never even be _born_."

* * *

Miko frowned at the phone in her hand; while Raf had gone back to sorting the contents of the bag according to his own categorizing system, she had scrolled back to the earliest dated picture, which, to her consternation, was actually taken at the Tokyo airport back in early September, and showed her in all her rebellious glory standing between her suited up, unsmiling father and boringly dressed mother whose smile looked like something more of a grimace. She scowled at the photo, viciously scrolling past even as she wondered at its presence.

Was somebody _stalking_ her?

Her frown deepened with every photo she saw, as each date-stamp coincided with the ones on her own phone. Eventually, she came back to the one of Smokescreen and Bulkhead, which was the last photo she had taken recently, and, noticing that the number of photos listed on this phone was far greater than her own, clicked past it.

Her jaw dropped…this, this was…

"Dude, Optimus has a freaking lightsaber!"

Raf, startled by the outburst, dropped the rations he was currently sorting through, and whipped around to stare at her in confusion; "What?"

Miko promptly hopped off the couch and shoved the small device into his face, causing the twelve year-old to go cross-eyed and take a step back in order to actually see the photo on the screen.

"Optimus has a lightsaber! How come nobody told us, huh, huh?"

It _did_ look a bit like a lightsaber, Raf thought as he frowned at the image of Optimus holding an enormous, glowing blue sword upright; it seemed to be almost as long as the Prime was tall. But that didn't make any sense; if the Autobots had a weapon like this, then why hadn't they been using it?

Raf received his answer as he looked at the date-stamp, and his mouth fell slightly agape at the implications; "Uh, Miko, what day is today?"

"October twenty-sixth, duh."

The resident computer genius pushed his glasses further up on his nose, as though to make sure he was reading it right; "Well, according to the date-stamp, this picture was taken on November first, the year twenty-twelve."

"Uh, Raf," Miko began, raising an eyebrow that was clearly meant to question his sanity; "November first hasn't happened yet."

"No, it most certainly has _not_!" the pink phone was suddenly snatched from Miko's grasp, and, with an indignant 'hey!' on the exchange student's part, both of the children looked up to find Agent Fowler standing there, the old cell phone dangling from his grip as he eyed the image on the screen with a grim expression.

Miko angrily folded her arms and pouted; "I was _looking_ at that, y'know."

"Yeah, well, everything on this phone just became highly classified material," The man stated, and gestured to them with a shooing motion as he turned to leave; clearly heading over to where Optimus and Ratchet were standing by the med-berth, reassuring Nurse Darby that her patient was resting when they left.

"Prime!" he shouted, lifting the phone above his head and waving it wildly, "You and I have some footage to review!"

"So it would seem;" the Prime rumbled, and offered a servo to the man, who hesitantly clamoured aboard with careful, uncertain footsteps, "I believe my office would be better suited to the coming discussion; Ratchet," the medic glanced in Optimus' direction to show he was listening, "Call Smokescreen and Arcee back to base, and run a scan to determine if our guest's claim is true; inform me of the results as soon as you are finished."

"Optimus," Ratchet began, peering at his leader searchingly, "you don't seriously _believe_…"

"If anything she has said is true," the Prime began, turning to leave the room, "then we are not at liberty to dismiss her claims."

The medic frowned at the mech's retreating back, automatically tuning out Miko's shouting in the background,—_hey, you still have my battery!—_but offered no further protests as he raised a servo to his comlink; "Arcee and Smokescreen, return to base as soon as you are able."

Their responses crackled over the com after brief moments of silence.

"_You got it Doc!"_

He gritted his denta at the rookie's cheery reply, but Arcee's voice cut in before he could even say a word about that infernal nickname.

"_We'll head back as soon as I pick Jack up from work."_

"See that you do, Ratchet out," the Medic dropped his servo back to his side with a tired sigh as he began setting up his scanning equipment.

"I'm going to go check on our patient," June told the room at large as she began making her way down the steps and to the back rooms, "she doesn't strike me as the type to listen to the doctor's orders." Ratchet merely let out an annoyed huff from his vents by way of acknowledgement, and the woman shook her head at his back in exasperation before vanishing down the hallway; sometimes she just didn't understand that mech.

"Hey Doc," Bulkhead suddenly called, derailing Ratchet's concentration on his task before it could pick up speed.

"My name is _Ratchet_," said "doc" snapped, shooting the Wrecker a glare. The green giant went on as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"So what's the situation with our mystery girl? Is it MECH or what?"

The medic scoffed, "She _says_ she's from the future."

The green mech blinked; "Seriously?"

"No way! That's _sooo_ cool!"

"Is she really?"

_Brrr—wheep-eee—bzzzt._

Ratchet turned to find the four other occupants of the room staring at him expectantly now, and he glared at them as though hoping they would all disappear from existence and stop plaguing his own. "Go away and let me work," he snapped when he realized his first approach clearly wasn't working.

As one might predict, Miko immediately began to whine; "Aw, c'mon Doc—"

"It's _Ratchet_!"

"—Spill! You can't just leave us hanging!" Bumblebee eagerly buzzed his agreement with the young Asian, and that was all it took for the rest of them to join in.

"ENOUGH!" he snarled after mere seconds, and they all immediately fell silent. "I have _work_ to do to, and I am quite certain the rest of you have better things to do than badger me! _If_ this girl turns out to be telling the truth—which is _highly_ unlikely—then Optimus will be the one you hear it from. Are we clear?"

A moment of stunned silence followed his outburst before Miko, ever the cheeky one, rolled her eyes, folded her arms, and promptly stated in a sing-song voice; "Somebody'sbeen in the Synth-En again."

The glare the incensed medic levelled on the fifteen year-old had Bulkhead fearing for his charge's life, and he promptly scooped her up, one servo protectively shielding her from the medic's gaze as he slowly stepped away, clearly ready to bolt as Ratchet's optics followed him.

"Uh…" the Wrecker began nervously, still shuffling slowly towards the hallway, "We're just gonna…uh…go see if Nurse Darby needs a hand! See ya, Ratchet!" And with that, the resident green giant swiftly disappeared down the corridor, but that didn't stop them all from hearing the echo of Miko's cry:

"Geez, what crawled up _his_ tailpipe and died?"

Ratchet, with a furious sigh, drew a hand over his face and promptly lifted an optic ridge at the two remaining occupants, whom, seeing the lingering rage and irritation in the depths of his optics, looked at each other briefly.

"Drive?" Raf suggested nervously, and Bumblebee buzzed an eager acceptance as he picked up the twelve year-old and transformed around him, not even beeping a farewell to the medic as he drove out of the base like a bat out of hell.

The last thing Rafael had wanted to do at that point was tell the medic he didn't think the girl was lying.

* * *

Ah, Miko. Chapters like this just make me love her character even more ^.^

Now it's annonymous review time! (Thought I`d include these in the update just because)

Guest: I'm glad you're enjoying it. Throwing Miko's old phone into the story was something I just couldn't resist. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations.

Cool: Why thank you, I will certainly try to!

Guste: No cliffhanger this time! Hope you're still enjoying it.

FFV: Yes, in the show, MECH was disbanded because Silas-er, Cylas-killed all of the members who were present upon his awakening. However, I like to think that there were more people involved with MECH than just those we were shown, mainly because, though I did enjoy Human Factor, I thought while watching "Dudes! Seriously? Why did you portray Cylas as such a devious jerk if he's gonna do something so stupid? Come on! I thought he was smarter than that!" as such, if they never expand on what MECH started in future seasons, I will be severely disappointed that they destroyed such a good plot point for the sake of one episode. (I'm still disappointed they killed Breakdown before we learned the story between him and Bulkhead; hopefully they make up for that later somehow too). On another note, yes, there is the possibility Arcee and Titania will commiserate on their many losses together; however, much like Arcee, Titania isn't very quick to open up. There may be a chapter where they come to establish camaraderie, but it probably won't be for a while. Hope you enjoyed! Oh! One more thing, as for Titania's cannon making you think of ROTF, I was actually thinking of it myself when I wrote it! You know, the whole, "humans are too destructive to be trusted with our weaponry" thing.


	7. The Faces of Tomorrow: Part Three

Sorry about the wait again, as always, hehe...I have to confess I like the ending of this chapter, not so much the beginning though...this will be the last installment of The Faces of Tomorrow chapters, next chapter is onto better things (such as setting up more plot! Yay!) while still taking place immediately after this one. (I still never managed to put in the scene I originally planned to, oh well.) Please enjoy!

Oh! WAIT! Important! I slightly altered the previous chapter (nothing too major, just clarifying who`s saying what and stuff) but I did change the dates that Miko and Raf mentioned; present day: October 26th. Photo date-stamp: November 1st. And Titania`s birthday: November 13th.

And, ugh, can you BELIEVE that Beast Hunters is the last season? They better make it good...

* * *

_**Chapter Six: The Faces of Tomorrow—Part Three**_

"…welcome to K.O. drive thru, where every patty's a knock out; may I take your order?"

Jack tried to put some semblance of cheerfulness into his voice; he tried to make sure the faceless customer on the other side of the microphone would think that serving them was one of the greatest honours he'd ever had, and that, no, it wasn't at all tiring, emotionally draining, or frustrating to stand there for hour after hour, asking the same things again and again for only minimum wage.

Somehow, though, Jack was fairly certain he failed, and he barely kept back an audible groan as the customer himself spoke.

"Yeah, I'll get the double K.O. burger special with an extra large fry and a coke, and a Spicy K.O. chicken strips combo with a diet coke. Oh, and, hey, Darby? Could I get your autograph? They put you in the Guinness world records for biggest loser _ever_."

Jack bit back several clever comebacks that came to mind, even as Vince's laughter at the unamusing insult rebounded in his skull—he remembered full well what happened the last time he actually bothered with Vince's non-existent sense of humour, and, no, he was _not_ willing to pay for the jerk's meal again. So, ignoring his screaming pride—_this aft couldn't survive even HALF the things you have!_—Jack simply muttered the price into the microphone and watched with resignation as Vince's over-priced car—which often had him thinking that surely the jerk _must_ be compensating for _something_—pulled up to the window, revealing the ginger's smirking, freckled face.

He was, however, not expecting to see Sierra—the girl he'd been crushing on since the fifth grade—sitting in the passenger seat, biting at her bottom lip. The other redhead was obviously dressed for some kind of special occasion, as Jack had never seen her wear quite so much make-up; her shoulder-length hair was also uncharacteristically let down, and she was sporting a green tank-top and a black mini-skirt he'd never seen her wear before.

"Vince, when you said dinner and a movie," she was saying, her hands held in her lap as she eyed the driver with a mildly upset frown, "I was kind of, well, expecting _dinner_. Not _this_. Y'know?"

"Chill, Sierra. Food is food," Vince replied patronizingly without even turning to look at her, so he—unlike Jack—didn't see the attractive redhead deflate slightly. Even if it had been any other girl instead of her, Jack was certain he still would've frowned disapprovingly at the way Vince was treating her. Unfortunately, he happened to do so while the high-school jerk had a perfect view of his face.

"What the hell are you looking at Darby?" Vince snapped, going from cocky-asshole to pissed-off-asshole-looking-for-a-fight in record time. Behind him, Sierra let out an exasperated sigh, and, saying nothing, turned to look out the opposite window.

"You really shouldn't talk to her like that," Jack replied without thinking, and Sierra's head snapped back around to stare at him with slightly wider eyes. "Now; that'll be twelve-sixty-seven."

At that moment, Jack was very glad he had thought to leave Vince's order out of arm-reach by the till, because, surely, the other boy would've snatched it and drove off just because the ever-lowly Darby had _dared_ to call him out on his behaviour in a way that prevented him from making a retort without inadvertently insulting, or presenting himself as sexist to, the girl in the car. As it was, Jack could tell that, by the way Vince was eyeing the brown bags, the redhead was seriously trying to determine whether or not he'd be fast enough to actually lean through the window and grab them without being stopped.

Simply to emphasize the fact that, no, he _wouldn't_ be fast enough—running for his life on a weekly basis had made Jack's reaction-time too quick for that—Jack reached behind him and pushed Vince's order even further out of reach, repeating himself in a carefully neutral voice that revealed none of the smugness he currently felt at having one-upped the boy at long last; "Twelve-sixty-seven please."

Scowling, Vince tossed a twenty at him, snapping; "Make sure you get the change right, Darby."

When said change was given to him alongside the greasy food and carbonated drinks, Jack barely had time to register the small smile and wave Sierra sent in his direction before Vince peeled out of the drive-thru with a violent squeal of his tires.

Jack felt a smile appear on his own face as he watched the car disappear; _Me; One. Vince—_the smile disappeared as he let out a sigh and leaned against the window sill, chin in his hands as he ruminated on past conflicts between them—_still at least a hundred ahead._

"Girl troubles again?"

Jack started slightly, turning to find Arcee parked directly across from the drive-thru window; he wasn't sure when she had arrived, but it must've been only a moment ago considering her hologram was only just flickering out of sight. Shortly after she spoke, a blue and white race car, with the number thirty-eight plastered on its doors, and a screaming red spoiler on its back, pulled in to park beside her. It seemed it was Arcee's turn to patrol with the rookie today.

"Girl troubles?" Smokescreen repeated questioningly, and Jack could hear the cocky smirk creep into his voice; "I've got tips for that! You see, back on Cybertron, whenever I was interested in a femme I would…" the younger Autobot trailed off, and Jack saw his mirrors adjust at an angle that suggested he had sent a glance at the motorcycle beside him, the front of which had turned towards the race car as though to stare.

"You would _what,_ Smokescreen?"

"On second thought; forget I said anything…nice weather out today, huh?"

Jack shook his head and chuckled lightly, glancing at the clock moutned above the drive-thru window as he did so, before leaning slightly out the window; "You guys are a little early; my shift's not over for another ten minutes."

"Yeah, well, Ratchet called us back to base," Arcee explained, "I told him we'd stop by and get you first."

"He did? Why? Did something happen?" Jack felt anxiety constrict his chest ever-so-slightly, and forcefully stopped himself from imagining some of the more terrible possibilities; there was no point in worrying himself prematurely.

"Don't know," Arcee replied, "He didn't say anything about it; but he did sound impatient."

"Impatient?" Smokescreen echoed incredulously; "If that's what you consider 'impatient,' I really don't wanna know what you consider 'cranky.'"

The blue bike let out a sigh, as though explaining something to a four year-old for the umpteenth time; "Ratchet's been through a lot. I know sometimes he can be—"

"Forceful? Overbearing? Snappish?" the sports car rattled off.

"—_Difficult_," Arcee finished, and Jack was sure that, if she'd been in her bipedal form, she'd be shooting her current patrol partner a glare as she bit out; "But so can certain _other_ members of this team."

"Ouch. You're one harsh femme, you know that?"

"I try. Now mute it; car's coming."

It turned out the car was only Bumblebee though, and the yellow Urbana 500 pulled in on Arcee's other side, whistling a greeting as he opened his door and Rafael climbed out.

"Hey guys," the twelve year-old greeted as he adjusted his glasses, and Jack found himself frowning at the distracted tone, as well as the younger boy's thoughtful expression.

"Hey Raf, what's up? I thought you and Bee were gonna have a racing tournament at base today," Jack wondered aloud.

Bumblebee let out several beeps, and Jack dared to think he sounded almost confused for a moment, before suddenly letting out a whining buzz and beeping rapidly.

"Ah, don't worry Bee, I forgot too," Raf replied.

"Racing?" Smokescreen repeated excitedly, "I _love_ racing! The roar of energon in your engine, the feel of your wheels on the road, the rapid pulse of your Spar—"

"Not that kind of racing," Arcee interrupted, and, for a moment, Smokescreen was silent.

"But…" he began after that moment passed, somehow managing to look stumped even without a face, "what other kind of racing is there?"

"The virtual kind," Raf replied with a small shrug.

"Oh_._"

"Anyways," Raf went on, "you guys won't believe what happened today!"

A high-pitched whirr accompanied his statement, followed by more beeps and buzzes than Jack could keep track of.

"Wait, _what?_ Are you _serious?_" Arcee demanded of the yellow scout, appearing somewhat incensed, "_Bulkhead…"_ she growled.

"Uh…" Smokescreen began hesitantly, "is this new one gonna be mine?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—hey!" Jack interrupted hastily before anyone could answer, feeling slightly annoyed at being left out; even though they didn't have faces, he could practically feel the Autobots turn to look at him, "Can't speak robot over here, remember?"

Raf looked slightly sheepish, blushing, "Oh, sorry, Jack. There's a new—"

"Darby!" the voice of Jack's boss interrupted, "Your shift's over! Get your butt out of here before I have to pay you over-time!"

Jack turned around to look at his overweight boss where he stood on the other side of the restaurant, fumbling with his words as he called back, "Oh—uh…yes sir!"

When the thick man waddled back out of sight, he muttered under his breath; "_Aft."_

However, he was glad to be taking off the stupid hat he was wearing, and, as he began to leave his station—_sweet freedom!—_he called over his shoulder, "I'll be out in a second, guys."

* * *

Titania glared at the door knob of the only human-sized door—and therefore the only one she was capable of opening—in the room. She stood before it, wrapped in a soft, fluffy housecoat (she had spent several moments simply marvelling at the feel of it against her skin) which she had found draped thoughfully across a chair. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she found herself wishing she had her lock-picking equipment with her, because apparently the damn thing was locked. It was either that, or someone had made a painstakingly elaborate impersonation of a door simply to throw her off and waste her time with trying to intimidate it into submission. Considering the cold draft that was wafting over her bare feet from the small crack under the door, however, she highly doubted it.

She wasn't too surprised to find the door was locked, honestly, and a small part of her was glad it was. She suspected it was Agent Fowler who would most likely have demanded it be so, in order to keep a potential threat from getting into any classified material on base, and the realization of that being the most likely case actually eased her troubled mind; it was something her Uncle Bill would've done too, so maybe they weren't as different as she'd begun to fear.

Nonetheless, the time traveller was frustrated by the impediment of her movements, and let out an aggravated sigh as she rocked back slightly on her heels, only to stop as the motion shot stabs of pain up her legs; she winced, and briefly wondered if she should simply go back to the bed and lie down again, resting like she was supposed to.

The sixteen year-old growled in frustration as soon as the thought crossed her mind, and it was ripped apart and eradicated with extreme prejudice; this was hardly a time to be lying around, trying to sleep, only to be made prey to garbled, regurgitated memories. There was _work_ to be done; plans to be made and set in motion, weapons and armour that needed maintenance checks, new surroundings to be made familiar with, new allies with relatively unknown abilities to be catalogued in the appropriate brain-space where such things were catalogued…

Titania hadn't realized she had started pacing until the jiggle of keys and the turn of the doorknob attracted her attention, and she was forced to look over her shoulder to stare at the door that was now somehow several feet behind her. The door swung open, and Nurse Darby stepped into the room, staring at the empty bed on the other side for only a moment before turning to give the girl a pointed look.

The stern-faced nurse folded her arms across her chest, "And just _what_ do you think you're doing, young lady? You shouldn't even be on your feet right now! Do you have _any_ idea how serious a condition you were in?"

"Yes," Titania replied without thinking; she knew her body well enough to tell when she'd been playing Nicky Nicky Nine Doors with Death. The fact that the Energon radiation, which had undoubtedly been the biggest contributing factor to her near-death experience—it usually was eighty-percent of the time—had blinded her unique sixth sense, told her how narrowly she had escaped it. Every time she'd ever woken up without being able to sense anything beyond the radiation in her own body, she was treated to a tirade from Ratchet about how close they had come to losing her. The last time had been when she was fifteen, when she'd been caught on the edges of the blast radius of an energon grenade; the bloodloss from the shrapnel, combined with the irradiation, had kept her unconscious for six days, and under Ratchet's care for nearly a month.

As she recalled the memory of it, she frowned thoughtfully and considered her most recent escapade involving energon radiation—a much larger quantity of it at that—and found herself wondering, once more, how long she'd been out this time. The thought immediately made her gut sink with horror; _please don't let it have been more than six days; please._

"Nurse Darby," she began, not even realizing the woman had opened her mouth to speak, most likely to order her back to bed; "How long was I out?"

June didn't seem too surprised by the question, though Titania's anxious tone certainly made her pause for a moment and stare at her worriedly; "Only about five hours."

"That…" Titania trailed off for a moment as she whispered quietly to herself; completely stupefied by the answer, "That can't be right." The shortest time she'd ever spent unconscious because of energon had been seven hours, and that had been because she was zapped _once_ by a prod on its lowest setting; the same setting of which her Uncle Bill had apparently once been tortured by Starscream with, and _he_ had been zapped repeatedly, but was still only unconscious for three hours.

Seeing the bewildered look on the teenager's face, the ER nurse let out a sigh—mistakenly assuming the days events were finally beginning to catch up to her—and walked over to place a hand on the girl's shoulder and guide her back to the bed she had so foolishly vacated; "Look, I understand this has probably been a very long, confusing day for you, but that's all the more reason you should try to get as much rest as you can."

"Right, yeah, sure…" the girl replied distractedly as she sat—with visible relief, which she momentarily failed to hide—on the edge of the bed.

"I never _did_ catch your name," June commented, and the girl immediately snapped out of her contemplative stupor.

"Titania Dar—" Titania cut herself off suddenly, and her inner voices began shrieking at her, viciously whacking her over her metaphorical head with sticks formed from single-word insults. _Moronic—Stupid—Idiot—Amateur! _

Seeing that June was still waiting for her to finish with a curious, almost half-startled look, she swallowed thickly and tried to smile, hoping that it didn't come out as a grimace, "Titania; it's just Titania."

Nurse Darby didn't seem to believe her, but she nonetheless offered a soft smile, and deigned not to ask; "Well, Titania, it's nice to meet you. Is there anything I can get for you? Water? Food? A magazine? I imagine you must be hungry at least."

Titania certainly didn't _feel_ hungry—all of her misgivings were taking up too much stomach space for that, she supposed—but she knew that, logically, she _needed_ to eat. So she told June that a meal would be appreciated and then asked for nothing more.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else; like a book or some cards?" The Nurse pushed, frowning slightly.

Titania merely shook her head, "No, but thank you."

June sighed, "Well, all right then; I have to go to work soon, so I'll call my son and tell him to pick something up for you. I won't be back until tomorrow, and I expect you to _stay_ in that bed the entire time I'm gone, are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Titania replied, though she had no actual intention of doing so.

As though sensing such, June folded her arms and gave her a severe look; "I _mean _it, young lady."

Titania merely nodded in a deliberate manner that somehow seemed to say; _"I know, but I'm doing it anyway."_

With a sigh of defeat, June turned and began to leave, only to pause in the doorway, looking back at her with a soft, but nonetheless scrutinizing, look. She seemed to reach some sort of conclusion as she took a single step back into the room, arms tightly wrapped around her chest as though _she_ were the one who suddenly needed to be held together.

When she spoke, her voice was so quiet that, for the briefest of moments, Titania thought it was one of the voices in her head.

"Who did you lose?"

Silence stretched between them as Titania stared back into those knowing eyes, and she felt her heart trying to press against her spine in an attempt to retreat as far from that knowledge as possible.

The sixteen year-old bowed her head, staring at the floor, and bit out with more venom than she meant to: "It doesn't matter anymore."

The words felt like someone had dumped a bucket of glass shards directly into the chambers of her heart, and each beat dug them deeper into its flimsy walls. The voices in her head had been stunned into silence, until one tentatively whispered; _"How can you say that?"_

"Titania…" June began, "It's okay to grieve."

"I did," she replied, her tone clipped, and a part of her wondered if that was actually true; did screaming at the sky count as grieving? "It didn't bring them back."

_And it won't help me save them now, _she added silently, her lips pursing.

"If you ever need anyone to talk to, just know that I'm willing to listen," June told her, every word carefully dipped in a mixture of sincerity and concern. She left without another word once it became clear that no such discussion would be taking place any time soon, and she closed the door gently behind her.

And so Titania sat alone in the silence once more, and stared at her hands as though the path to the coming future could be traced in their scars.

* * *

For a long moment, June simply stood outside Titania's room with her hand on the doorknob, the key in the lock, and questions poking sharply at her mind.

There was something about the girl that troubled her deeply; in fact, there were a great many somethings that troubled her. However, there was one thing that stood out from the others, and made her heart ache painfully, always giving her the urge to pull the sixteen year-old into a tight embrace and tell her everything would be okay.

It was her eyes. Eyes that were the exact same stormy, grey-blue shade as her son's; eyes that would harden with determination the same way his did when he knew that being strong was the only choice, eyes that became two small anchors to those who had none.

But unlike Jack, the fire in Titania's eyes sometimes sputtered with a soul-reaching agony, as though some other-worldly creature had reached into the very essence of her existence with nothing but malicious intent, and had brutally ripped out the most vital piece of her, smiling all the while.

June didn't know what—or _who_—that piece might have been, she only knew that, from the bitter snap of Titania's voice, something had been left to fester in its place.

She dreaded what it might be.

The Nurse sighed as she finished locking the door and pulled out the keys, taking a moment to feel awful about treating her patient as a prisoner; she could understand Bill's reasoning for it, but that didn't mean she liked it.

She began walking down the hallway as soon as she tucked the keys into her purse, mind still filled with depressing thoughts she couldn't seem to shake off as she took out her phone and speed-dialled Jack's number.

"Hey Mom, what's up?" he answered after the first ring.

"Hi Jack, I need you to pick up some things for me and bring them to base. You're still in town, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I just got off work; is it true there's a new girl at base?"

June sighed; "That's why I'm calling; I need you to pick up something for her to eat. Oh, and can you pick up a bouquet of flowers too? I think she might enjoy having something to brighten up the room."

"Um, okay; any kind in particular?"

"Whatever looks nice, Jack, you choose. I'll see you when you get here."

"Ok, love ya."

"Love you too, Jack."

June hung up with a _click_ as her phone snapped shut, just as the base's resident, jolly green giant walked around the corner in front of her, Miko perched in his hands.

"Oh, hi Nurse Darby!" Miko greeted loudly, leaning dangerously far over the edge of Bulkhead's hand, much to her guardian's obvious worry; he carefully set her down, and the girl ran from his grasp up to the Nurse.

"So! How's mystery chick? Can I see her? Just for a minute?"

June sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose; she'd been wondering when she would have to deal with this. "No, Miko."

Miko put her hands together in imitation of a prayer, her eyes wide and pleading; "I just wanna ask one question, really quick! _Please?_"

The Nurse gave her a stern frown; _"No._"

"Agh! _Fine!_" Miko exclaimed as she threw her hands up in frustration, and then folded her arms across her chest with a huff, turning her back towards June.

With a sigh at the exchange student's antics, June resumed walking down the hall, waving to Bulkhead as he stepped aside to let her pass. She paused just as she was about to turn the corner, turning to throw the young Asian—whom was now slowly tip-toeing down the hall—a knowing smirk.

"Her door's locked by the way."

The girl paused, one foot still above the ground, and then stomped said foot viciously; "Ugh!" She then promptly pivoted on her heels and marched in June's direction, back toward the Silo's command centre.

"Between you and Ratchet, fun is an endangered species!" The girl pronounced as she bypassed the ER Nurse, grumbling discontentedly as she went—_don't touch this, Miko, don't touch that—not allowed to see the Zombiecons, not allowed to storm the spacebridge—oh, you killed Hardshell? Well, too bad!—_and, with a sigh, June raised an eyebrow at Bulkhead, whom was now trailing behind them as they walked.

He merely shrugged, as though to ask what he was supposed to do about her; it wasn't like he hadn't _tried _to be a good influence.

As June thought of all the incidences with the fifteen-year-old that no amount of said good influence had managed to prevent—at least the ones the Nurse knew of, anyway—she found herself realizing she was mildly relieved that Miko wasn't the type of girl Jack was interested in.

* * *

Ratchet was pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the main console when June, Miko, and Bulkhead re-entered the command-centre. He paused long enough to send both Miko and Bulkhead a warning glare that clearly said he would reformat the green Wrecker into a toaster, and Miko would be the _toast_, if either of them so much as made another peep in his presence.

The Wrecker mimed zipping his lips, chuckling nervously as he held up his servos in a placating gesture; Miko, however, glared, huffed, and looked away defiantly, nose slightly raised into the air. He scowled at the fiteen year-old a little while longer before he resumed his pacing, not noticing as she childishly stuck her tongue out at his back.

Nurse Darby shook her head slightly before checking her watch, sighing at the time; she'd been hoping to see Jack before she had to go to work, but it seemed that was not to be the case.

"I have to go," she informed the room at large as she began making her way to her car, "Jack's bringing food for Titania, make sure she eats it. I'll be back tomorrow. Call me if there're any problems."

Ratchet gave a noncommittal grunt and didn't even look in the Nurse's direction.

"Uh, bye Nurse Darby," Bulkhead waved, and June smiled at him slightly before climbing into the driver's seat and driving out of the base, brake-lights disappearing around the bend in the tunnel.

Miko proceeded to stomp moodily up the stairs towards the couch and tv, earning a glare from Ratchet due to the clanging of her shoes, and then plopped herself onto the sofa, turning on the TV and picking up a controller.

The medic seemed willing to ignore the quiet _zchoom-zchoom_ noises emanating from the TV in favour of simply enjoying the fact that Miko was not causing as much noise as she usually did.

Having nothing better to do, Bulkhead stomped over—earning his own silent reprimand in the form of angry optics (though, really, he couldn't help that he had to stomp everywhere)—and settled down to watch Miko try to beat Jack's high score, resigning himself to a tense and awkard silence at least until one of the others returned.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait long as the roar of a sports engine echoed towards them through the tunnel, headlights bouncing off the grey walls as Smokescreen barrelled into base, transforming with a fancy, acrobatic manoeuvre he most likely learned in boot camp, and skidding to a stop right on top of the large Autobot insignia embossed on the floor. Arcee and Bumblebee followed a few moments later, though at a much slower pace, and allowed their passengers to disembark—Jack with a brown paper bag and Raf with a vase of assorted flowers—before transforming.

"Whoo-hoo! I win! Oh yeah! Beat that!" Smokescreen whooped, and Arcee put a hand on her hip, staring at him with thinly concealed annoyance.

"We weren't racing," she stated. Bumblebee beeped his agreement with the motorcycle before proceeding to buzz about speed limits and stop signs, but the rookie wasn't listening anymore.

"Ah, you guys are just—_OW! Ratchet!_ What are you _DOING_?"

Autobot and human alike could only stare in shock as they watched the grumpy old medic take hold of Smokescreen's red chevron and bodily drag the whining recruit—_Owowowowowow—_over to the medical berth.

"Lie down," Ratchet barked, releasing his tight grip on the sensitive protrusions of the younger mech's helm. As he turned around to power up some equipment, Smokescreen rubbed gingerly at his chevron, giving Arcee a dirty look that said; "I _told_ you."

Arcee merely rolled her optics before asking; "Ratchet, what's going on, does this have anything to do with the girl? Raf told us she said she's from the future."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Smokescreen piped up eagerly, only to receive a harsh smack to the back of his helm, "Ow! What was that for?"

"Lie down and stay _still_," Ratchet growled, and, once Smokescreen had done so, though not without eyeing the medic quite warily, he began running a deep chassis scan, "And, yes, Arcee, she did make such a claim. However, this scan will prove, beyond all doubt that she is ly—dear Primus…" the medic trailed off, staring, gobsmacked, at the image displayed on the screen before him; one single, relatively large object displayed in red, listed as an unknown obstruction.

"Uh, what is that?" Smokescreen asked hesitantly, staring at the display. The others, all six of them, were staring as well, waiting for an answer Ratchet was not inclined to give as he slowly raised a servo to his comlink and hailed Optimus.

"_Here, Ratchet,"_ the Prime's voice responded, and the medic couldn't help but notice that he sounded so, _so_ tired.

"Optimus, it's about Smokescreen's scan…what she said…the relic…it…" Ratchet trailed off, at a complete loss of words, as he tried to wrap his processor around what it could all possibly _mean._

Meanwhile, deeper in the base, tucked away in his small office, Optimus stared down at a cracked, slightly flickering screen with old, weary optics. In turn, Agent Fowler, unable to look at the picture any longer, stared up into his sober face—it dawned upon the man then how old this being really was—with a horrible realization.

It was an understanding that their war had already taken so much from so many, and, it seemed, had decided it still had not taken enough.

"I know Ratchet," the Prime replied after several moments of silence, "I know."

Even when Agent Fowler clicked the old phone shut, the image of Jack, Miko, and a newborn Titania—dated November 13th 2018—still seemed to bore into his processor, and, for the several days that would follow, all he would seem to see when he looked upon the sixteen year-old Titania would be the face of her mother, filled with exhaustion, deep-burrowed grief, and yet still managing to be in awe of the life she had brought into the world. He would see her father, smiling that loving smile as he held her, the tears streaming down his face as anguished eyes looked upon her and simply _knew_.

He had given life to her…

He had damned her.

* * *

And, voila! Dramatic, I know, eh? ;) I must confess this is probably one of my not-so-good chapters for this fic...it was quite an uphill battle with this one.

Ok, Anonymous reviews!

Guest: Glad you liked it!

FFV: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and, as for Miko and Jack possibly finding out about Titania's relationship to them...sorry, that would be too big a spoiler if I commented on that actually. Guess you'll just have to wait and see. However, yes, Optimus, Ratchet, Fowler and Titania have no intention of telling anyone about her heritage (but we all know how plans never survive first contact, right?). As for Titania's fear of not being born, to her, at least, it's justified, since she has no idea what kind of affects going back in time will have since it's not like there's a handbook (I bet she wishes there was though, hehe). In regards to whether or not she would actually disappear if they didn't get together, Ratchet will be explaining his time-travel theory somewhere in the next two chapters (I hope) but, again, I will point towards the fact that none of the characters know for CERTAIN what would happen (even though I do, in this case), but Ratchet's theory will indicate the route I am taking in time travel with this fic (which will actually be important to the sequel I vaguely have in mind already). As for your question, yes, it's totally legal to do so. In fact, tons of people do that just so they can keep track of their favourite stories, and never post anything themselves. I had this account for almost a year before I actually posted a story. Do sign up, please! I'll be excited to actually be able to respond right away, rather than make you wait for each chapter! Thanks again for your review!


	8. From the Ashes

I am so sorry about the long wait, this one's extra long to make up for it :) though I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this one; it's supposed to set up a lot of stuff to come, and, well...I'll let you guys be the judges of it.

* * *

_**Chapter Seven: From the Ashes…**_

_Smoke curls upwards. Fire burns. The sound of jets screams overhead, echoing in the suddenly very fragile mind of a twelve year-old girl._

_It should've been simple…_

_A tug on her arm, a pull away from the place filled with the stench of burning flesh. All she sees are the faces she knows she will never see again._

"_They're circling back! We have to go!"_

_Suddenly they're running, and all she knows is the pain in her lungs as she struggles to breathe past the smoke, all she knows is the pounding of hers and Kicker's footsteps as they run for their lives because theirs are the only ones left to save._

_Low-risk…easy…_

_She feels the rapid approaching of their enemies' Sparks, and fear grips her as she longs for the comfort of Bumblebee's and Ratchet's life-forces instead…longs to know that she is safe…_

_But it is only long after—when wounds are bound and tears wasted, when new names are ritually carved into hearts as surely as they are into stone—that she realizes she'd never known what it was to be safe at all._

* * *

Titania felt like she was twelve years old again, hiding in a dilapidated, half-collapsed warehouse with shattered windows, the pulverized glass—as fine as dust—glittering faintly on the cracked, concrete floor. She could still remember that warehouse very well; she and Kicker had spent several days hiding inside, far from the battlefield where their recon squad had been wiped out. She could remember staring at the scorch marks on the walls and floor from battles—or maybe massacres—long past, thinking that their shapes reminded her of ghosts from the old storybooks she'd once read. She could remember holding her breath and pressing herself flush against the walls as Decepticon flyers patrolled overhead, visible as mere specks through the gaping hole in the ceiling, the distant, phantom-like feel of their Sparks a terrifying blight upon her steadily worsening mental state at the time. Most of all, though, she remembered the ever-present fear that, at any moment, something, yet again, would go horribly and terribly wrong, dooming them both.

Despite the safety of her current location, it was that same fear that plagued her now. It was an entirely irrational fear, she tried to convince herself as she lay awake; she was safer now than she had been her whole life. Even so, it continued to persist, yanking her back into consciousness whenever she began to drift off, with visions of burning worlds and corpses lurking at the edge of sleep like vicious predators waiting to pounce once her guard was down.

Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore; she kicked off the covers and fumbled for the lamp switch beside her bed. The brightness burned her eyes, and, as she blinked rapidly in an attempt to adjust, she noticed that the digital clock told her in taunting, red numbers that it was already three in the morning.

Her gaze didn't linger there for long, however; she had gone many nights without sleep in the past, and she didn't doubt she would suffer through many more restless nights in the future. Almost immediately, her eyes fell on the softly lit yellows, whites, and reds of the nameless flowers that stood vigil at her bed side.

Agent Fowler had brought them to her the previous day, also carrying a bag of food the likes of which she'd never seen. The "hamburger and fries," as they were called, had turned her stomach hours later, but it had been some of the best food she'd ever tasted.

When he had first walked in, he had greeted her with stilted words and an unfamiliar look in his eyes (pity, she thought it might be; it bothered her) that made her want to look anywhere but at him…and so her gaze had settled on the brilliant colours, and, as an inkling of what those marvellous, strange things might be trickled into her mind, she had found herself gaping in awe.

"Are those…are those _flowers_?" she had asked, stunned. They looked more beautiful than she'd ever imagined they could be. Fowler had clearly been thrown by the question, and spent a moment just staring at her in bafflement before realization—aided by the memories of the photos of a dreary world he'd hopefully never see with his own eyes—swiftly back-handed him.

"You've never seen flowers before," he had stated, voicing his epiphany out loud. She had shaken her head without a word, and then, with a brief moment of hesitation, had reached for the vase.

"May I?"

"Of course," he had replied, and handed them over, watching as she settled them in her lap and simply marvelled at them with a child-like awe she had not felt since her father had awoken her that night, long, long ago, and given her a plant.

"Your father picked them out for you."

At that statement, Titania had frozen briefly, finger just barely brushing against a silky red petal as she suddenly found it hard to breathe. She had closed her eyes and pinched at her nose, taking in a deep, ragged sigh before turning to look at the agent once more; they had stared into each other's eyes for several moments then, a silent concession passing between them.

"He's not my father, yet; so don't call him that," she had pointedly reminded him then, and a grim attempt at a smile had twisted his lips as he replied.

"Of course."

She knew, though, that his reference to her father—_Jack_, she told herself with exasperation—was the closest she would get to an apology from him, and for that she had actually been relieved. She didn't _want_ to hear him say sorry for simply doing his job; she didn't _want_ to hear him say sorry because she knew that the word wouldn't apply to just the fact he hadn't believed her. It would mean "I'm sorry for what you've been through, I'm sorry you lost so much, I'm sorry we couldn't stop it the first time; I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry._"

She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her.

So, pushing the thought of her father—_how am I going to survive seeing him again, when it isn't even him?—_far from mind, and simply nodding to show Agent Fowler she understood his meaning, she asked: "Where's the dirt?"

"Dirt?" the bewildered agent had repeated in confusion, as much at the turn of conversation as at the question itself. Surprised that he didn't seem to comprehend something so simple, Titania had gestured to the flowers in her lap.

"You know; how are they supposed to survive without dirt?"

She could almost hear the _click_ of sudden understanding in his brain.

"Oh! Oh…uh, well, ya see, these flowers are just for special occasions, when you wanna brighten a place up for a little while or somethin'…they're uh, kinda _meant_ to die…"

"Meant to?" she had repeated, deeply unsettled by such a foreign concept. Something in her expression must've hinted at that fact, as the agent had hurried on to speak again.

"We can always, uh, get you a planter; I mean, it won't help _those_ flowers at all, but—"

"It's fine, Agent Fowler," Titania had interrupted, feeling vaguely irritated by the uncertain display the man was putting on; Uncle Bill would've known what was bothering her and addressed it, even if she didn't quite understand it herself, "I guess I'll just have to enjoy them while they last."

Any attempts at conversation had essentially halted there, and after he had provided her—once again with stilted words—with the food apparently also bought by her father, he had turned to leave, telling her over his shoulder that the door would be left unlocked now, but she should get some rest because they had a lot of work ahead of them tomorrow and Nurse Darby would have all their heads otherwise.

And so that had eventually led Titania to now; suffering from insomnia at three in the morning.

Running a hand through her hair, Titania stood up and, putting on the housecoat—ignoring the ache in her body—strode across the large room to the door and peaked her head out to look both ways down the corridor before exiting. The last thing she wanted was one of the Autobots trying to order her back to bed—_I am _not_ a child!_—and, with her sixth sense still irritatingly blind, she had no way of knowing if they would suddenly turn a corner or not.

She wandered the corridors aimlessly for at least half an hour, memorizing each hallway and which rooms they led to; the floor of the silo was cold against her bare feet, and she found herself eventually wondering where all of her things were. She had no doubt her armour probably needed some minor repairs at the very least.

Pausing in the middle of a hallway, Titania reached a hand up to the bare expanse of her throat, suddenly acutely aware of the absence of the Autobot dog-tag that she had worn constantly from the moment her mother had given it to her. Her skin tingled where the chain usually rested, and, smothering the brief voice of panic insisting she had somehow lost it, concluded it was most likely with the rest of her things, wherever they were. She was overcome with the urge to find it, to hold it in her hands and feel its reassuring weight against her chest, if only just to remind herself why she was doing this—why she was forcing herself to suffer at the hands of long-dead ghosts, and be painfully reminded at every moment that _they_ were not _them_.

After another half-hour of searching, finding nothing, and subsequently wondering where everyone on base was—she knew the Autobots only needed to recharge once every four days, so long as they weren't wounded or energon-starved—Titania found herself in what she could only assume was the command-centre.

She immediately tucked herself into the shadows of the corridor when she saw Ratchet at the med-berth, studying a rusty-looking object—an Omega Key, she realized—intently, as he muttered indecipherable words under his breath, and poked and prodded at the relic with a number of various tools.

Over at the monitors, the impressive form of Optimus Prime stood, occasionally glancing over to Ratchet's workspace, especially in those moments when a particularly vile curse was muttered after receiving the inconclusive results of yet another test.

Titania briefly debated turning around and leaving neither of them the wiser to her presence; she hadn't spoken to either of them since they had first interrogated her, and, irrationally so, she didn't think she could stand to speak with Ratchet at the moment.

_Coward,_ a voice hissed at her, while another, full of agony and quiet resignation, reminded her that _this_ Ratchet hadn't watched her grow up, and he wasn't the one who had stood by her tired and ragged twelve year-old self the day she and Kicker had seemingly returned from the dead, having finally made their way back to camp; he wasn't the one who had watched with relief as she scratched out her own name from the canyon wall that carried the list of the deceased.

He wasn't the one who had taken her aside, and, for just a moment, let her see how much he actually cared as he ordered: "Don't you _ever_ make me carve your name into that slagging rock again."

So she had no right to expect him to behave as though he had done all that and more, and no right to resent him for behaving otherwise.

Steeling her determination—_remember to breathe, girl_—Titania stepped out of the hallway and into the room.

Ratchet, being closest, was the first to notice her, and their gazes met for only a moment before he looked away, his words echoing in the once silent room; "You should be resting."

She merely shrugged, but underneath her nonchalant exterior, was trying not to remember the same voice screaming at her to go.

"I'm an insomniac," she told him truthfully, and the medic seemed to take a moment to ponder the word before frowning slightly.

"Chronic inability to sleep…" he muttered under his breath, as though having just looked the word up in a dictionary; he straightened from his position leaning over the Omega Key, pushing the suspended…whatever it was (microscope?), off to the side, where it bobbed slightly on the folded in form of the metal arm that held it. "There are a number of medications for—"

"No!" Titania vehemently refused the moment she deduced what he was about to say. A bolt of fear shot through her for only a moment as her mind flickered back to the image of an unassuming pill sitting in a smaller, younger hand, and then to the long, never-ending string of nightmares from which she had been unable to wake. Optimus' gaze—formerly pinned to the monitors despite his knowledge of her presence—snapped over to her, optics unreadable but for the vaguest suggestion of concern.

Ratchet's optics, on the other hand, widened for a moment at her outburst, and it wasn't until he narrowed his gaze at her and gave a slightly indignant huff, turning his back on her to adjust a piece of equipment—an achingly familiar sign of dismissal from what felt like another lifetime—that Titania realized she had inadvertently taken a peace offering and had essentially held it between finger and thumb at arm's length, gagging while she pinched her nose as though it were terribly smelly trash.

_Why can't you do anything right?_ A voice in her mind demanded of her in an exasperated tone.

"I…" she began hesitatingly, feeling she at least owed him an explanation, and glanced between Ratchet's exposed back and the Prime, who she knew that, though he had turned back to the monitors and now seemed to be utterly absorbed in his work, could still hear every word and was likely only feigning otherwise out of respect for their privacy.

She lowered her voice despite knowing that Optimus would hear her words anyway.

"I don't react well to those," she informed him, and watched as he momentarily ceased movement, turning his head only slightly to indicate he was even listening at all, "Thank you for the concern though."

He snorted before grumbling, "Concern has nothing to do with it."

"Ratchet…" Optimus interrupted warningly from his post, blue optics boring into the medic with something like exasperation, while Titania felt the barest hints of a bittersweet smile disappear from her face before it could begin to form; those were words she had heard her Uncle Ratchet say many times.

Ratchet met his Prime's stare for only a moment before grumbling likely unflattering words under his breath in Cybertronian, and then finally turned around to face her once more.

"Insomnia or not, you still shouldn't be on your feet," he told her bluntly, and folded his arms across his chassis, shifting his weight slightly from foot-to-foot, "you're only going to strain yourself."

She rolled her eyes, "Relax Doc," she pretended not to see his optic ridge twitch at the nickname, "I've suffered much worse."

It was only after the words slipped out—so casually, as though they were merely swapping stories of teenage hijinks—that she realized it would have been better not to say them. The tension in the room suddenly spiked, and for a moment, it seemed that everything was absolutely still and even the quiet, ever-present, nearly unnoticeable sounds of cycling vents and tiny, shifting gears were gone, as though each individual part of their being had stopped to devote all their power to trying to comprehend how she could have ever survived something _worse_.

Optimus was staring at her again, and, for a brief moment, his face was no longer impassive, though the emotions it did show were unrecognizable because of the mess they made when fused together. Ratchet, in contrast, looked anywhere but at her, fumbling for words under his breath.

"Yes…well…that…" he fell silent, gesturing uselessly and then picked up the nearest tool and began fiddling with it simply to occupy his hands; before either of them could think of something to say, Titania cleared her throat uncomfortably and spoke up.

"Uh, yeah…anyway, where's my stuff?"

It was a horribly abrupt way to change the subject, but she noticed the slight—so slight as to be nearly non-existent—easing of the tension from Ratchet's frame.

It was Optimus who answered though: "In storage bay five. I will accompany you there," he turned to his chief medical officer, "Ratchet, if you would—"

"Man the monitors, yes, yes," the medic waved him off, putting down the tool he had been pretending to calibrate and heading over to the station with only the briefest, hesitating glance back.

Optimus approached her with great thudding footsteps that instinctively made her step back—the only mechs his size that she had ever seen in her life had been Decepticons—and she saw his hand twitch and the weight of his body shift, but, before he could even begin to kneel down and offer her his hand as she sensed he would, she—feeling her pride as a soldier demand it—took another step back and stated, in no uncertain terms, "I'd prefer to walk, thank you."

She didn't mean for it to come out as rudely as it did, but something about the Prime's presence made her feel some need to prove herself beyond even the smallest iota of doubt that she was stronger than Cybertronians gave her species credit for. She felt some desperate craving to have him see her, not as a small organic child who had suffered too much (she could tell from the look in his optics that's what she was in his eyes), but as a soldier who was to be respected as such and treated like one.

He didn't seem to take offence though, and hesitated for only a moment before his regal voice rumbled out, "Very well," and he began leading her down the corridor.

When she realized he was keeping his pace deliberately slower than usual so she could keep up rather easily, she purposefully quickened her own and ignored the burning in her legs that it caused. She could hear her Kicker's voice echoing in her mind as surely as though he were walking beside her and talking at that very moment.

"_You an' your damn pride."_

She found herself answering him silently, but even in her mind, the words sounded defensive: _I have a right to my pride._

She could imagine the ensuing, exasperated response so clearly it made her muse for a moment that, perhaps, travelling back in time had been an anaesthesia-induced hallucination, and she was really in Uncle Ratch's cavernous med-bay with Kicker—stoically bearing the pain of a Cybertronian presence—standing at her bed-side and keeping up a rather one-sided conversation with her, punctuated only by the occasional slurred response that often made very little sense.

"_I never said you didn't."_

The imaginary conversation—similar, yet so different from the ones in her memories—came to a halt as soon as Optimus did, the Autobot leader pausing to lift the Cybertronian-sized garage door that blocked off the storage bay from the corridor.

Titania followed him inside, sparing only a moment to wonder what was hidden within the enormous crates before watching as Optimus picked up a small, black, heavy-duty storage container from on top of one and knelt down to place it at her feet. Titania realized then that it wasn't as small as Optimus' size—which ultimately dwarfed everything—made it out to be, and the container easily reached to her waist.

"Agent Fowler ensured all of your possessions were securely placed inside," Optimus informed her, "in order to keep the more…_curious_ of our charges from happening upon any more sensitive materials. The code is S-one-seventeen."

Titania nodded in understanding, secretly appreciating the consideration; the last thing she needed was to deal with the questions that could arise from either of her parents turning out to be too nosy for their own good in their younger years. She punched the code into the electronic lock and marvelled at the quiet _click. _She couldn't remember having anywhere to secure her possessions before; the best she'd ever had was a beat-up wooden jewellery box with a broken lock where she had kept the tiny knick-knacks she'd picked up over the years, and that had been lost when the headquarters were destroyed.

She flipped open the lid, eyes roaming over the contents; armour, backpack, body suit—

Titania saw a near-miniscule patch of dark green amidst the blacks and greys of her only possessions, and eagerly shoved the rest out of her way as she leaned in to reach the dog-tag that had slipped to the bottom of the storage container.

The cold weight of it in her hand—however slight that weight was—felt like she had embraced a dear, dear friend she hadn't realized she'd cared for as much as she did until they were gone. She straightened, and let it slip through her fingers; it bounced as it jerked to a halt on the end of its chain and then swayed dizzily to and fro.

She looked up in time to catch the flash of curiosity and surprise that passed through Optimus' optics as they settled on the green Autobot symbol.

As she clipped it around her neck, she decided she may as well enlighten him: "It was my mother's."

"I have not yet seen her with it."

"Is that so?" she murmured under her breath, trying not to think about her mother's younger self—_what the hell is she like anyway?—_and then frowned as she noticed the absence of two particular objects from her belongings. She glanced up at Optimus, brow puckered slightly.

"Where are my guns?"

The Prime remained stoic as he slowly rose from his kneeling position, but Titania thought she saw something shift in his optics, as though a door she didn't realize was open had swung shut.

"They are in storage bay seven," he informed her after a moment in which he seemed to choose his words carefully, "and for the sake of the children, I would prefer they remain there, as they will not be needed."

Titania couldn't help but notice that there was no particular length of time mentioned, and that, technically, "children" could very well be intended to include her. She narrowed her eyes up at him in response and folded her arms across her chest, straightening her already ramrod straight posture as she did so.

"I'll get them back during missions, of course…" she trailed off, allowing him the opportunity to either confirm or refute her statement, which he took, confirming her nagging suspicions in the process.

"You will not be accompanying us on missions," Optimus told her bluntly and, before she could say a word of outraged defiance, continued on, "The information you carry is too valuable to risk losing, and the Decepticons would be certain to attempt to obtain it from you—by any means necessary—if they were to somehow learn of your origins."

For a whole minute, Titania stood stock still, staring up at the towering titan before her in disbelief; somehow, during all the preparations that had been made, during all the plans that had been carefully laid out, she had failed to take _this_ into consideration. She knew Optimus saw her as a child who had suffered more than any being had a right to, she _knew_ he was protective of the human race, _especially_ when it came to children, and would not condone even a single human casualty no matter the cost to the war—_"It was their war after all,"_ she remembered her father saying once, _"and sometimes I wonder if it was actually the guilt he probably felt for involving our race that kept the human element out of their battles for too long."_—so how was it she had somehow failed to realize that protectiveness would automatically extend to her? At the very least, however, he seemed to respect what she had endured enough not to cite her age and species as the primary reasons he was trying to keep her out of the fight, no matter how big a reason they were.

Titania pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply to calm the rage spilling from the cracks of the soldier's pride he had inadvertently wounded with his implications. Before her, Optimus seemed to be preparing himself to stoically bear through an angry tirade, and she was determined to prove she was _not_ the child he thought she was; and, quite simply, she had too much respect for this stranger—_"He sacrificed a whole world for us, Titania."_—to show that much _disrespect_ over something she should have seen coming…

But there was no way she was going to stand for this. _No. Fracking. Way. _ Not even if it _was_ Optimus friggin' Prime.

"With all due respect sir," she began with a serious, even voice, though Optimus could tell that there was anger—righteous, _offended_ anger—trembling beneath the surface as it fought against her control, "I think we both know the real reasons, so let me clarify something; I am a soldier first and foremost and I expect to be treated as such. Not as a woman, not even as a human, and _certainly_ not as a _child_," her voice shook slightly when she spoke her next few words, despite her best attempts to keep it steady; yet, somehow, it still managed to stay strong, its message passing from her voice box loud and clear, "Uncle Ratchet, Uncle Bill, Uncle Raf…they sacrificed their very _lives_ to get me here; they entrusted their hopes for a new future to _me_, and I'll be _damned_ if I don't fight until my last breath and heartbeat for it."

The Prime's face turned grave as he stared down at her, and she thought she saw the guilt her father had spoken of flash through his optics.

"Titania, I am sorry for your losses," he told her—she flinched at the word "sorry"—with his voice rumbling in an aggrieved, yet comforting baritone as he knelt down once more, "and while I will confess that your young age and the things you have undoubtedly endured—things which no one in your species should have ever had to—may have heavily influenced my decision, the fact remains that the information you retain is invaluable and I would not be able to guarantee your safety on a battlefield."

Titania glowered at him, her tenuous control over her temper straining, her mounting frustration helping to drive it to the breaking point, "I don't _need_ you to 'guarantee' my safety when I can damn well protect myself, Optimus. One of the first things we were _ever_ taught as children were all the weak points in a vehicon design, which we had to memorize better than our abc's. Our whole lives, my parents, Uncle Bee, Uncle Ratchet, Bill, Raf…they taught us _exactly_ how to kill those fraggers, and I _have_ killed them. _Repeatedly_. My armour," she jabbed an angry finger in the direction of the pile of scorched metal, "was forged from the scraps of the first Decepticon I ever killed. So don't tell me I need the guarantee of _your_ protection to survive when I've been keeping myself alive for _years_."

The last word of her impassioned speech echoed off the walls of the large room, distorting with every rebound until it sounded like some heart-rending whisper reaching for them from another place in another time.

For several long moments, silence followed the lamenting cry and was broken only when Titania finally broke eye-contact—_he's seen too much; I let him see too much—_and let the lid of the storage container fall shut with a _thud_.

She pushed herself up onto the container and sat there, staring at her hands as she rested them in her lap. She could feel the Prime's optics on her, and she refused to allow her shoulders to slump with the bone-deep, emotional exhaustion that was quickly taking the place of her anger. Instead, she tossed back her hair—uneven and still faintly smelling like smoke—and then folded her arms across her chest and, with tightly pursed lips, stared searchingly up into his stoic face.

"If it's really the information you're worried about, fine," she crossed her legs and lowered her hands to her sides, tapping a finger lightly against the container as she spoke again, "let's talk the future here. We'll worry about my involvement when I'm actually in battle-ready condition; even I'm not stupid enough to charge headlong into combat while injured."

The Prime simply stared at her with an evaluating gaze for a long, long moment, and it took everything in her power to meet his optics unwaveringly. For the second time that day, she felt like she was twelve again; she felt as though Kicker had, once again, come into her tent despite the fact she'd shouted at him to go away, and had stood there staring at her curled up, clearly haunted form with calculating hazel eyes, trying to figure out if what he had come to say would help fix her cracked insides or finish shattering them.

And, just as Kicker had decided not to say a word (instead, he had waited with open arms for when the breakdown inevitably came), Optimus chose not to pick at the myriad of fresh wounds and old scars she had bared to him in a brief moment of vulnerability.

Titania was more grateful for it than she would ever admit, even as the memory of Kicker—_why was I never there for him like he always was for me?_—made her breath hitch slightly, and her sense of purpose take a brief hike.

"Very well," Optimus stated, optics shuttering briefly; it was as clear to him as it was to her that their previous conversation was by no means over, but, ultimately, there were more important things to be discussed, "I believe we should begin with the last of the relics; the co-ordinates you have provided will give us a head start on the Decepticons. I must admit, however, that the relic retrieved from Smokescreen is not one I am familiar with; are you aware of its function?"

The time-traveller nodded—shaking away useless regrets in the process—and her brow furrowed slightly in contemplation as she tried to take into account every variable she was aware of, "Yes, I am, and, for the time being at least, I'd prefer if what I'm about to say remains strictly between me and you."

The sixteen year-old got back to her feet and began to pace, mind working carefully through every shred of information stored within it as she spoke:

"It's called an Omega Key; there are four of them all together, and, individually, they're absolutely useless," she clasped her hands behind her back as she walked, "but together, and with the Omega Lock, they can restore Cybertron." She paused, turning to catch a glimpse of the Prime's startled expression; it seemed, for a moment, that he hardly dared to believe what she was saying. He considered his response to that revelation carefully, and she could almost see him struggling to smother the hope she knew he must be feeling.

"Are you…certain of this?" He questioned.

"Positive," Titania turned to face him fully, folding her arms across her chest, "Unfortunately, the Omega Lock also has the power to Cyberform other planets, and Megatron attempted to use it on Earth in my timeline. Fortunately, he was stopped," she sighed and ran a hand through her hair, "Unfortunately, it was only because you chose to destroy the Omega Lock, and it still wasn't in time to prevent the construction of Megatron's fortress in Jasper."

"Jasper?" Optimus repeated cautiously, "Do you mean to say…"

"That the Decepticons figured out the location of your base? Yes. In fact, if I were you, I'd talk to Agent Fowler about moving to a new base, _a-sap_. Uncle Ratchet wasn't able to figure out _when_ they pinpointed the exact location, but I'm sure they already have a pretty good idea of where to look."

The Prime sighed deeply enough for her to hear the strain the sudden and excessive cycling of air briefly put on his vents. "Agent Fowler will be returning in the morning, I will make the arrangements then. Please continue."

"Right, well…that's basically when everything went to the Pit from what I've been told; you split up the Autobots through the ground-bridge with orders to regroup as soon as possible, and then stayed behind to destroy the ground-bridge computer so they couldn't be followed. The Decepticons used the Nemesis to destroy the base, and you died," she paused, folding her arms once more and staring at the ground, thinking, "At this point, it would probably be best if the others didn't know what the purpose of the Omega Keys is, or even about the existence of the Omega Lock; Megatron only found out about the Keys' capabilities because they used a cortical psychic patch on Smokescreen when he was captured. Our best shot at one-upping those bastards is to make sure they stay in the dark as long as possible."

Optimus didn't frown, not outwardly, at least, but she could tell the idea of keeping secrets from his team did not sit well with him. "With the co-ordinates you have provided, the retrieval of the Omega Keys will be significantly expedited, and our chances of retrieving them before the Decepticons do will be much higher; so while I understand your concerns, I do not believe it is strictly necessary to keep this information from the others."

"It _is_," Titania insisted as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading; this had been the one point in their plan that her Uncle Ratchet had been absolutely adamant about, "Optimus…I don't want to risk losing my world just because one too many people knew the truth. None of us have any way of knowing how much is going to change just because of my presence alone; for all we know, this time around, Megatron might learn _more_ than just the purpose of the Keys from some captive Autobot, and maybe, instead of humanity dying out over the course of decades, Megatron might succeed in Cyberforming Earth, and wipe us out in a single day," She clenched and unclenched her fists. "It's bad enough that, if Smokescreen _is_ captured again this time around, Megatron's more likely than not to find out I'm from the future."

For a moment, the Prime's stoicism slipped as he sighed, and he reached up to rub at the edges of his helm-crest in a distinctly human gesture that startled Titania with the sheer amount of exhaustion it seemed to communicate.

"I…understand your reasoning, and will respect your wishes in this matter."

Titania sagged with relief, "Thank you."

"Is there anything else you feel I should know at this point in time?"

The sixteen year-old pursed her lips thoughtfully, brow furrowing as she stopped to seriously consider the question; there was Dreadwing giving the Autobots the Forge of Solus Prime for some reason he had never bothered to tell them in her timeline. Chances were, they'd have to find a different way to get their hands on it this time around, but that was a bridge to be crossed when they came to it, and she didn't see the need to bring it up yet, if at all. But there was still the matter of—

"_Starscream,"_ Titania hissed, surprising—and worrying—Optimus with the amount of venom she managed to put into the former air commander's name, "_he's_ the reason Megatron got his hands on all four Omega Keys, and _he's_ the one who decided to use my parents and Uncle Raf as hostages to get you to hand over the keys when the team managed to get them back. At the end of the day, it's _that_ bastard who doomed this planet."

Optimus watched, with growing trepidation, as Titania's eyes darkened; he had seen the look on her face many times throughout the course of the Great War, and it had always been as his soldiers stared down the one mech or femme that was the source of their greatest grief. Seeing such burning rage—such an obvious desire for _vengeance_—on the features of a human so young filled him with worry, as well as a vague, nagging sense of foreboding.

"Starscream has always been a mech it is unwise to underestimate," he informed her, attempting, in his own way, to reassure her, "he will be treated with the caution his former rank merits."

Titania merely gritted her teeth and nodded, barely stopping herself from snapping out: _"Where was that caution the first time?"_

Things would be different now, she had to remind herself; the events in her timeline wouldn't come to pass. With a tired sigh, the sixteen year-old pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, rubbing at it in a futile attempt to drive away the exhaustion she wasn't willing to admit she felt. It seemed, however, that Optimus was well-versed in human body language, as he held his hand open before her and stated: "Come, you require rest. You have put yourself through enough strain for one night."

"Insomnia," she muttered at him.

"Not all rest requires sleep," he reminded her in turn, and Titania glanced from his hand to his face, and quickly realized he wasn't going to relent this time.

"Fine," she grumbled in defeat, barely willing to admit to herself that the pain of her injuries was becoming a bit more than a mere discomfort at this point. She climbed into his hand with the ease of someone who was quite familiar with this form of transportation; Uncle Bee had often carried her about in this manner when she was a child—she had loved being able to see over everyone else's heads—and Ratchet had often had to do so whenever she was sick or merely due for a check-up (she had always tried to run away from those as a kid).

Optimus stood up once she was carefully situated—her hand gripping the smooth metal of his thumb—and Titania felt a sudden wave of vertigo as she rather belatedly remembered that the Prime was _a lot_ taller than either Ratchet or Bumblebee. It passed quickly though, and she sat down in his palm, legs dangling daringly over the edge. She was careful not to give into the temptation to reach her fingers in between the interlocking pieces of his thumb, where she would be certain to find a better handhold, but also certain to lose the fingers of her only good hand if his thumb moved even the slightest bit.

They both left each other to their own thoughts as the Prime walked down the corridor, each uncertain of where they stood with the other, and neither quite sure how to make any sort of casual inquiries considering the sheer gravity of what they had just discussed.

Eventually, Optimus came to a stop just outside her room and slowly kneeled, lowering his hand to the floor as he did so. She eased herself off, feet touching the cold stone floor, and turned to stare up at him. Even kneeling, he carried himself with an aura that made her almost dare to believe he could never fail, could never be wrong, and that his strength would always be there for her to fall back on when her own was not enough. At the moment, it was so, _so_ tempting to let herself put all her faith in him, to hand off all the responsibilities that sat on her shoulders and take a seat on the sidelines where she could _breathe_ for a little while…she could tell, as she stared into his optics, that he was offering exactly that as he continued to wait for her to say something. He was willing to carry the burden for her if she didn't want it anymore—and, _Primus_, she wanted it gone so, _so_ badly—all she had to do was drop it at his feet.

For a moment, she was so close to doing it too…but she couldn't bring herself to forget that he _had_ failed, in another life long before her own had begun, and that his strength had _never_ been there to steady her footsteps when they faltered. It wasn't his fault, she knew, and she certainly didn't hold it against him—he had died for his team, her parents, Rafael, and damned his own planet for theirs, after all; what right did she have to expect any more from him?—but it didn't change the fact that the life she had lived _proved_ he wasn't infallible, and she refused to let herself fall into the trap of believing that he would always, no matter the odds, be there to pick up the pieces and make sense of them again.

But, if Titania was being completely honest with herself, it was also a reluctance to part with the only thing she had left that prevented her from accepting the unspoken offer. This burden was her purpose, and, without it, she _knew_ she would be lost, set adrift in an unfamiliar place and time, surrounded by nothing but reminders of all that had been brutally ripped out of her life and that would never truly be hers again. Perhaps it wasn't exactly healthy that she was willing to cling to it so desperately despite the agony it caused her, but holding on seemed to be the only thing she knew how to do anymore.

"Optimus," she began as she looked away from him and stared at the door before her, shoving her hands into her housecoat pockets as she did so, "promise me you'll at least consider what I said before."

He let out a loud sigh, "Titania—"

She cut him off, "_Promise _me."

There was silence for a long, tense moment, and she felt the Prime's optics boring into her—seeing right through her—as he replied.

"I…will consider it."

Titania still heard the unsaid words: _"But I will not likely change my mind."_

She let out a ragged sigh that helped, very slightly, to expel the mounting frustration from her body before muttering, "I guess that's all I can ask for."

She opened the door and slipped inside without glancing back, hurriedly closing it behind her to shut out the knowing gaze that followed her. As she leaned her head back against the door, she felt all of her anger, grief, and insecurities threaten to overwhelm her, and she reached up for the dog-tag at her throat, clasping it in her hands and reciting her mantra, trying to draw strength from it as she had a thousand times in the past; strength from the Wrecker who had made it, from the battles it had seen in her mother's possession…battles that would never take place, and a mother that might never _be_ her mother.

Titania slid to the floor, pressing her closed fists against her forehead, and reached for an inner strength she wasn't sure was there.

* * *

Well, that was a very big look into Titania's psyche this chapter (I'm sure you can all tell she's suffering from PTSD) and I'm sorry if I made Optimus behave slightly OOC (I don't think I did though?) We'll be getting a look into his thoughts about this next chapter and, ooh, action! ...hopefully.


End file.
